


Forbidden

by Lioness25



Category: Halo
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, First Times, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Loss, Reunions, Romance, Teen Angst, War, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lioness25/pseuds/Lioness25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having feelings, being in love; these aren't things that pertain to Spartans. They'd been told so, from their earliest days. Duty, focus, war; these were the only things that mattered, to a Spartan.<br/>But from the first morning on Reach, snatched from their homes, and from everyone they had loved, and had loved them, John and Linda embarked on a slightly different course...one that defied what they'd been told, and would ultimately last a lifetime, through 'death' and separation, their love remained, and they would always find a way, around a life that was never of their choosing, but had ultimately brought them together, forever, forbidden. </p><p>(This fic really is a romance, so if you want action, and fighting and so on, this probably isn't the fic for you, or maybe you'll like it anyway! ;) I took quite a bit of artistic liberty too...so...be warned)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. LINDA 058

**Author's Note:**

> John and Linda. Not a pairing that is usually found in Halo FanFictions. There have only been three, in all the fanfics I've come across. Indeed, some people seem to hate Linda, or at least misunderstand her, and therefore ignore her. I on the other hand, feel that there is ample relevance in having Linda in a pairing with John: his feelings in First Strike, and at the end of Fall of Reach are intriguing, and ultimately inspired this fic. 
> 
> (Don't get me wrong, I love the standard Cortana and Kelly pairings for John, but this pairing, I feel has merit, and to me, is sweet, and lovely)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is not Beta'd. I'll try my best to catch errors, please forgive those I don't catch. I often update/write late at night, so stuff sometimes gets missed.

 

 

He quickly scrubbed himself, his teeth chattering with cold. The water was barely warm and the soap was harsh, and made his skin a little itchy. He rinsed himself, feeling chilled and exhausted, but knew this strange day was far from over.

All he wanted was to go home. They all did.

Home, however was not something it seemed any of them would see again. Shuddering, John toweled himself off; the towel too, was harsh, and rubbed nastily at his skin. He stood to the side, huddled in its rough embrace nonetheless, as it was his only form of cover at the moment. Looking about him, he took in the other children, rinsing off, most drying themselves by now, and found it a little strange, even at only six, that they were all naked, washing together.

Near the end of the line, one girl caught his eye. It would have been hard for her not to have. Her skin was very white, though it looked rather pink at the moment in most places. She had soft, pretty features, looking like a porcelain doll. But it was her hair that stood out the most. It was a dark, intense red, hanging down her back limp, and clinging with wet. She looked over her shoulder, almost as though she could feel his gaze on her; their eyes met for a few seconds and John was unsure what he found in hers.

John’s study was cut off, when they were marched back into the barracks, and ordered to dress in the plane grey sweat suits provided.

As he had anticipated, it was a long, nasty, and in his case, because of his over eagerness and pride, hungry day.  

He lay on his cot, trying to sleep, to pretend he wasn’t starving, when a soft hand on his arm made him jump. He opened his eyes, and looked to his side. Kneeling beside his cot was the red haired girl from the showers.

Up close he noticed she had the most unusual and intensely green eyes he had ever seen. Her shirt bore the number and name, LINDA 058. Before John could ask her what she was doing, she stood and walked back down the isle of cots, and settled on her own with her back to him. John’s brow crinkled in confusion, then he looked down, noticing she had left him something.

He pulled back the corners of the napkin; inside was two slices of turkey. Probably her whole protein portion, or at least two thirds of it; he looked back over to her cot, she looked over her shoulder at him, ‘'hurry'’ she said, then lay back down.

John didn’t need telling, he wolfed down the first piece, then taking a breath, ate the other a little more slowly. Just as he finished, the sounds of the other children returning from dinner came echoing down the hall.

He lay back, and closed his eyes, feeling vague warmth, and a deep appreciation at Linda 058’s kindness. He would have to repay her sometime.

When Linda was given an extra hundred jumping jacks for her kindness the next day, John seethed, and was determined to look out for Linda, from then on no matter what.

The next three days passed in the same grueling routine, aided only by the fact he was learning it was best to work with others, and so was getting meals at night. Kelly 087 and Samuel 034 were pretty good friends, better than none, and he enjoyed their company, and their skills. What he wanted though, was a chance to talk to Linda. He had hardly glimpsed her, except from afar since the morning she had been punished for helping him.

John hated to think she was avoiding him because of that. Was she mad at him? That thought almost made him laugh…since when did he care about a girl being mad at him, or for that matter, girls of any kind, feeling any way, at all?

Nevertheless, he did care.

Maybe she was being told to keep away, or risk more consequences.

Day five dawned at 0600 like the past four, and they all rose, and were about to make their way to shower, when Mendez stomped into the room, and barked at them to line up. They did so, following him across the grounds to an area of the complex they had never seen, or been before. He lined them up with their backs against the wall, and announced, ‘'today, recruits, you will be given your induction haircuts. We’ll take five at a time; I expect the rest of you to wait silently here in line, until your numbers are called, when your hair has been cut, the DI’s will escort you back to the barracks, where you will shower, dress, and assemble on the exercise lawn as usual. I expect silence, compliance, and utterly no tears, or whining, clear?’'

‘'Sir, yes Sir!'’ answered seventy five voices, some less sure than others.

‘'First five, let’s go,'’ commanded Mendez,

The first group comprised four boys, and one girl.

When they filed out a few minutes later, they all had the same quarter inch or so buzz cut. This caused a slight murmur amongst the girls, Kelly loudest of all.

Alison, the girl, met no one’s eyes as she marched past. Her face was bloodless with shock.

John craned his neck a little, catching sight of Linda, about fifteen bodies ahead of him. The thought of her getting a haircut like the one Alison had made something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. But there was nothing to do but obey, and watch as their fellow ‘siblings’ were marched in and out in fives, shrinking the line until it was their own turn.

Linda’s turn inevitably came and went, and when she came out, she too looked deathly pale, but on her face despite the command, were tears. They leaked silently from her eyes, as she hurried past. John was stunned at the change, it left him a little breathless and more upset than he would have expected.

It was in his group though that Kelly, broke orders most blatantly. It was brilliant actually, watching her fight and scratch, having to be held down, unwilling to bow without maximum force. By that point though, when she had been subdued by a group of men…it lost its sprit and appeal. It was just sad. And so was she, furious tears running down her face.

As they showered and dressed John couldn’t help but notice how weird the girls looked now. Without the longer hair, they didn’t look like girls at all. They all looked the same, neither male nor female, just things, units, tools in the making, unified, and stripped of identity.

John finally caught up with Linda after dinner. He found her crying on her cot, lying facedown trying not to make too much noise with her misery.

Rather than feeling repulsed by the sight, as he might have back at his old school, in the past…which felt like such a long time ago already…when really it had hardly been a week, he was drawn to her distress.

He sat on the edge of her cot, and set a slightly hesitant hand on her back. She froze at the touch, John removed his hand, not sure what to do. ‘'Linda..?’' he whispered, leaning closer to her, seeing her posture relax at the sound of his voice.

Slowly she rolled over, and looked up at him. Her cheeks blotchy and wet with tears; she sniffed, and wiped the back of her hand quickly over her cheeks in a futile attempt to hide what was so obvious.

‘'Are you alright?'’ asked John, drawing his knees up to his chest, and securing his arms about them, with his chin resting on top.

Linda looked away, ‘'no,'’ she whispered. ‘'You shouldn’t be talking to me…they won’t like it,’'

John shrugged a shoulder, '‘I don’t care what they like. But…you’re probably right, especially if it means extra calisthenics for you,’'

Linda remained prone, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, glancing from time to time at John, out of the corner of her eye, as if waiting for him to leave, while not really wanting him to.

‘'I…I don’t think your hair looks so bad…’' John offered in a mumble, after a small silence, ‘'It feels sort of nice,'’ he added, rubbing his hand against the remains of his own hair.

Linda slowly sat up and rubbed her hand over her hair, cringing a little, then reached out and repeated the action on John’s hair, smiling slightly; then she shrugged and lay back down. ‘'Mines nicer,'’ she whispered.

John half smiled, glad that at least she wasn’t crying anymore, and he’d wrested a small smile out of her. She looked at him as he took his turn to feel her hair, smiling slightly again. John nodded, '‘you’re right, yours does feel nicer…it’s softer. It’ll probably be easier this way anyway…’'

Linda sighed, ‘'I suppose; I still hate it though.’'

‘'We’ll get used to it, I guess,’'

‘'Thank you John,’'

‘'For what?’'

‘'You better get back to your cot,’'

'‘What?’'

‘'Goodnight John,’'

‘'N-night,’'

Linda rolled over smiling, as John got up. She heard him pause, then he pulled her blanket over her. She listened as he made his way back to his own bed. Maybe she would have some kind of friend after all.


	2. Second Best

 

 

 

She coughed, and spit out a glob of mud, blinking, trying to clear her eyes, letting out a grunt of pain as someone’s boot clipped her chin, making her bite her tongue. She spat out the blood, and some more mud.

The clacking snarl of automatic fire pressed into her consciousness, her heart pounding, fighting down the urge to be afraid, to think that she would get shot…this was only training, not a real battle…but then, a graze would be considered good training by Mendez, and the DI’s with their riffles. She had mused at times, that some of them would easily fall into the category of being sadists, from the psychology lessons they’d had. Linda made herself keep crawling, her arms aching so badly she could hardly make them move, each movement she made forward, thwarted by a slide part way back in the slick morass.

At last, coated in cloying muck, she reached the end of the barbwire covered course, snagging her shirt, and herself as she rose, and began to run for the trees, avoiding the DI’s who attempted to tackle, and otherwise prevent this; making it so that you had to either evade them, or fight.

Kelly of course, was first to the trees. No one had laid so much as a finger on her.

Linda noted John was right behind her. She half frowned at this, feeling a little angry that he hadn’t waited for her. But then, he had always had this almost compulsive need to win, no matter what.

Sam however, had been caught, and was putting up a fight, against three DI’s. 

She’d almost made it over the open stretch, when an iron grip closed over her bicep. Linda let out a cry of rage, and twisted around, shoving her elbow upwards, making an even angrier noise, as the man caught her mid thrust, and wrenched her back around to pin her back against his chest.

Linda continued to struggle, managing to kick his shin, and knee, making him stagger, swear, and loosen his grip slightly. But it was enough for her to wriggle free. She stumbled, then sprawled forward, hitting her head, as his hand closed on her ankle, his face contorted with rage. Linda kicked at him, if anything, angrier, and more frantic than him.

With one last well placed kick, earning her something that sounded like ‘’bitch’’ from the DI, she managed to get to her feet, but her ankle would hardly bear her weight, she screamed as another set of hands, grabbed at her, she struck out again, heard a grunt of pain, then, ‘’it’s me, c’mon,’’

Linda looked at Fred, tried to convey she was sorry for hitting him, and let herself be helped into the woods. When they were several yards inside, Fred knelt, ‘’get on,’’

‘’What?’’

‘’Get on my back. Hurry,’’

Linda hesitated a few seconds longer, then with another sharp stab of pain to her ankle, she knew she was done, unless she accepted Fred’s kind offer. So, likely breaking the rules, she climbed on, knowing this was a strain on him, they were almost the same size, and well…they were only eight.

As Fred laboured up the low tree studded hill, the snarl of riffles and cries of captured sib’s faded, but Linda knew they weren’t done yet. There was still two more hours, and they had to get to the flag, to be ‘’safe.’’

Fred stopped about twenty minutes later, setting her carefully on the littler of coniferous needles, and leaves, under a low outcropping of rocks.

Linda watched as he gently unlaced and removed her boot. Wincing and biting her lip as his cool fingers examined her ankle.

‘’Well, it’s not broken, I don’t think. Just really sprained,’’

She nodded, ‘’thanks,’’

He smiled, a little shyly, ‘’no problem. Do you…want me to wrap it for you?’’

‘’Sure. Thanks,’’

Fred pulled out his med kit, and selected a length of elastic bandage, and began to tightly wrap the swelling joint. Linda watched him work; his sureness, and quiet efficiency comforting.  

When he was done, he replaced her sock, and her boot, lacing it as tightly as he could. Linda watched, not sure what had come over her, why she was letting Fred do this for her. Normally, no one cared about her, well, other than John.

She studied Fred. He was just as coated in grey, drying mud as her, his black hair was flecked with it too. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, and what would be a black eye darkening the skin around his left eye; the result of her attack on him. She smiled wryly. Poor Fred.

He was almost gangly, less sturdy than some of the others, like Sam, Will or Jorge. She felt bad for letting him carry her.

Linda took his hand, as he pulled her to her feet. The pain was still there, but bearable.

They had only gone another ten or so minutes, when a blaring alarm sounded, and then an announcement in Deja’s cool, yet authoritative voice, that the exercise was over, and all recruits were to report to the barracks.

Puzzled, Fred and Linda hesitated, then as the message repeated, they slowly headed back. 

 …

It was a rare ‘’day off’ of sorts; two days had passed since the obstacle course exercise.

They’d spent the morning at a funeral for of the DI, killed in the exercise, as he’d tried to restrain Carris 137, which had been the reason is had ended early.

This afternoon, Halsey, Mendez, ONI psychologists, and others, were having a meeting about training protocols, and procedures, hence the pause in their training for the day.

Fred looked up from where he was lounging in the dappled shade of the trees on the edge of the lake near the base, that they’d been taken to for the rest of the day.  He eyed the staffers that had been sent to keep an eye on them; they weren’t. They sat in a group, talking and laughing and paying their charges little to no mind. Fred smirked looking away from them, and over the sparkling water, to his fellow ‘’siblings’’ splashing, swimming and playing in the cool water.

Kelly, Sam, John, Serin, Kurt, and Cassandra were all playing some kind of water polo, and Kelly was currently trying to drown Kurt, in her aggressive attempt to get the ball up the water to Serin.

Fred smiled faintly; he could join them, they’d welcome him to the game he knew, but he didn’t want to. He hated to be noticed. Not that he was shy, no, he just didn’t like attention. He liked to do the task at hand, well, perfectly even, but then, not have it remarked on. Unfortunately, in the structure of the program, this often left him looking like he was always second best at things, as his efforts, though no less admirable, were often eclipsed by the other boys, and even some of the girls.

At least though, he wasn’t ignored, he thought, as his gaze shifted to another sib, floating on her back, paddling herself in a dreamy, slow manner, as she apparently gazed at the clear azure sky; there wasn’t anyone remotely close to her. All the rest were playing in their own games, competing at swimming, or lounging in the shade in small groups, like he was.

 Fred watched Linda’s slow progress, as she obliviously moved nearer and nearer the polo game. He was about to slip into the water, and swim out to her, having vague thoughts of swimming up under her, grabbing her, listening to her laugh, after she would probably yell at him, but be delighted, that someone was paying attention to her. But, just as he got to his hands and knees, he noticed John peeling away from the game, to the annoyed shouts of Kurt and Sam; dive under the water, and leaving only the faintest ripple on the surface, swim in Linda’s direction, as she continued to float slowly, and vaguely, head-first in the direction of the game.

Damn. Of course _he’d_ noticed her.

Fred watched with a sigh, as John swam up under Linda, his arms grabbing her tight. Listened to him laugh, as she screamed in surprise and then joined in his laughter, splashing him, hitting him a little too, as he released her, to splash back, then took her hand, and pulled her toward the game with him.

Yes, always second best, too modest to act impulsively.

John noticed him on the bank, and hailed him with a shout and a waving arm, to come join them. For a moment Fred felt surly and inclined to ignore John, but, he thought, by joining, he would at least by association, get to be close to Linda.

It would have to be enough; it was all he could hope for, as second best.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Halsey's journal, there is mention of 137, or Carris, killing one of the instructors, so, I decided to twist that around a little, into something more, to suit my needs, which gave me an opportunity to make an angsty Fred. I like Fred, and I always felt that he was a little left out, and over shadowed, and not because he wasn't liked, or included, but because, as is noted by John in the books, he simply didn't like the attention. I decided to give him a little crush on Linda, since he was her spotter sometimes, and so there could have been some sort of attachment I guess...but mostly because it layers on the romantic angst...yes, even though they are only 8 still, and this is all still light and innocent...


	3. Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where this work starts to get it's rating. I've moved ahead five years, the characters are now 13, and starting to have ''real'' feelings for each other.

 

 

He savored the feeling of the water against his skin, washing away the filth, imparting some warmth. Sighing, he hurriedly scrubbed at himself, feeling vaguely resentful, even after all this time, about the austerity of the showers. Barely ten minutes of water, water that got progressively colder with each passing minute.

How the hell could he still be wanting comfort, or luxury? That question almost provoked a bitter little laugh out of him. Was that what constituted luxury now in his life? A hot shower, that lasted as long as he wanted? Probably. Well, he was still a human after all…at least in what felt like his distant dreams.

The water sputtered out its last few, now chill drops, and shut off. John sighed, and rubbed a hand across his hair, expelling most of the water.

A soft thud making him look up sharply; he looked around, not seeing anyone or anything that would be the source of the sound. With two more thuds, he decided its origin was the locker area, at the end of the room. He walked forward, peering slowly around the corner, hating that his heart was beating as hard as it was. Shit.

However the source of the noise turned out to be nothing more than Linda fighting with the door of her locker; it was refusing to close.

 Except that ‘ _nothing more than Linda’_ was an understatement.

 John took in her form, unable to curb himself from doing so. Suddenly feeling a little shy of his nakedness a feeling that confused him; not that Linda was in anyway dressed, in only her underpants.

John slowly turned into the locker area, Linda looking at him with a slight pinch of annoyance between her brows.

‘'Need a hand?'’

Linda shrugged, '‘if you want,'’

John shoved the obstinate piece of metal, having to smash it three times into its frame before it finally gave in, with a little tremble, and shut. Linda fitted the lock, ‘'though, I doubt anyone, including me will be getting back into it anytime soon,'’ she muttered, then looked back over at John, her arms folded across her chest, a chest that was still enticingly bare.

‘'Thanks,’'

‘'Sure,'’

 A silence fell between them, as John found himself looking her over again, his eyes resting on the soft swells half obscured by her arms.

'‘Why are you here so late?'’ he asked, forcing himself to look away, and open his own locker, and pull on clothes; feeling an urgent need to, his heart was pounding and his mind…wandering.

‘'I don’t really like showering with too many people around…'’

‘'Why? We’ve been doing it for years,’'

 ‘'Yes…but, now I…I just don’t like it, so I try to come a little later, when there aren’t all of us here at once,'’

John digested this, trying to understand, and failing. He pulled his shirt over his head, and looked back at Linda, who still had not moved to dress.

'‘I still don’t see why…’' began John,

‘'Don’t you?’' whispered Linda, lowering her arms, exposing her chest completely.

Her breasts were full, and a little sore looking. They had been given several rounds of hormones in the last six months, and it had had an obvious effect.

Linda though, had developed a little more than most of the girls; clearly for her it was a source of both shame and shyness.

‘'Oh,'’ said John, quickly pulling on underwear; even though he was still not fully understanding.

Linda sighed, ‘'I don’t like the way some of the sib’s look at me; you seem to have similar problems,’'

John flushed, ‘'I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…’'

Linda looked down, folding her arms over her chest again, '‘It’s ok John…I…I don’t mind if _you_ look at me,'’ it came out as a half whisper.

‘'Why?'’

John flushed deeper, hating that he had blurted it out. Linda met his eyes again, ‘'because I can tell you’re not doing it in a vulgar way…you just… _like_ me,’'

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Yes, he liked Linda. He liked her very much…and had for years.

‘'Am I allowed to like you Linda?'’

‘'I don’t know, are you?’'

‘'No; but I don’t care,'’

Linda took a step closer to John, arms by her sides once more.

The breath caught in John’s throat…he raised a tentative hand, brushing his fingertips over Linda’s soft cheek, then over the slightly stubbly hair by her ear. His fingers continued to lightly, slowly glide, down her neck, over her shoulder, to her chest; he paused, looking into her eyes, asking permission. Linda’s lips parted slightly; she gave a small nod.

It was firm and soft in his palm. She let out a soft hiss as his thumb caressed it gently. Smiling, feeling his hand tremble slightly against her.

Her skin was by far the softest thing he had ever felt. He raised his other hand, Linda moaning softly, as he cupped each of her breasts, still stroking softly over them with his thumbs; exploring, acquainting himself with something that felt utterly alien, yet deeply pleasant… _pleasurable_ in fact.

Unconsciously they had moved to be inches from one another. John slid his hands behind Linda, pulling her close, their abdomens touched, knees bumped, and her wonderful chest, pressed to his. He regretted putting on his shirt.

Their lips met tentatively, they bumped noses, but quickly angled their heads, allowing their lips to fully connect. They exchanged a few hesitant kisses when a loud clanging made them jump apart, hearts pounding.

‘’ What the hell are you two still doing here?’ Shouted a DI, emerging into the locker area; he looked at the pair of them through narrowed eyes, arms folded across his chest, a volt baton in one fist. It must have been the source of the clanging; he had been hitting it against the side of the lockers, before he’d turned into the area they’d been in. Thank god he had, thought John, or he would have caught them ‘’in the act.’’

‘'Just getting dressed sir,'’ said John, pulling on his pants. Linda had her back to both of them, and was hurriedly putting on a shirt.

The DI glared some more, then pursing his lips said, ‘'just get the hell back to the barracks, you shouldn’t be here, alone, so late,'’ this last part came out as a slightly menacing hiss.

With one last look, he turned on his heel, and walked away. ‘'I expect you out in two minutes,'’ called his voice in a slight echo, off the tiled environment.

Linda zipped up her pants, watching as John tied his boots; she then did the same. They paused to gaze at each other once more, John smiling slightly, '‘C’mon, we better get to bed, before they think up reasons to punish us more than they’re probably going to already,’'

They fought the urge to hold hands as they left; neither of them could quite wipe the smiles off their faces.

First kisses, no matter what, good, bad, awkward, leave lasting impressions...and sometimes light flames.

Amazingly, much to John’s shock, there was no fallout from their encounter in the bathroom…so either the DI didn’t tell, or he hadn’t found it suspicious enough circumstances to bother.

After all, it was very likely no one thought by now…after seven years of training…they’d ever act like this.

How wrong they were.

 


	4. Forbidden

 

 

 

Wrestling; it was one of Linda’s least favorite parts of training. She hated the groping, and grabbing, especially now, and especially dressed in tight shorts, and in her case a sports bra. The boys were bare chested.

Today though, she found the prospect much improved by who her partner was to be.

John gave her a sly little grin, showing the small, endearing gap in his front teeth.

‘'Ready?'’ he whispered, moving to take up his stance, on the DI’s orders. Linda found she smiled back, ‘'Very ready,'’

They lunged at each other, their hands locking tightly. Linda hating that her arms began to tremble seconds later. She kicked out a leg, locking it in the crook of John’s knee, and pulled forward. He staggered slightly; she pulled harder, arms trembling hard now. If she caved, he’d have her on the floor. Linda unlocked her leg, planting both of her feet firmly on the floor, pushing as hard as she could against John. She looked up, their eyes met, he grinned, and gave her a hard shove, and her right arm gave out with a last tremble at her elbow.

Linda stumbled back, feeling slightly annoyed despite John meaning no harm. She didn’t like to lose, none of them did. But then, John was the worst person to try and win anything against. Except staring contests…she _always_ won those. He gripped her in a rib-cracking bear-hug grip, pinning her arms to her sides, pushing her back, her knees giving out under his persistent force. Linda’s back hit the floor hard, knocking her slightly breathless. John eased his grip on her, his breath hot on her face.

They were both slick with sweat by this point, and as their eyes met again, an odd feeling went through both of them, like that night in the bathroom, but stronger; it seemed palpable, and electric.

Time seemed to slow down, the noise around them seemed to fade, and their brains seemed to jam…it was as though they were the only ones here. Linda sighed as John’s lips pressed to her neck, her body shivering. Her hands turning to fists, as he kissed her neck harder, the kiss becoming an insistent suck; John felt something slightly painful, and hot begin to happen between his legs…Linda’s gasp at this new change making it all the more intense.

‘'What the hell do you think you’re doing?'’

John jumped as a jolt from the baton stabbed into his back. He quickly got off Linda, and stood; she did the same, a little slowly, her cheeks crimson.

‘'I asked you two, what the hell you were doing!'’ Shouted the DI, inches from John’s face, as John looked straight ahead, and answered in a stiff, barking reply that they had been doing nothing wrong, only wrestling as instructed, and had been struggling on the ground to determine the win.

The DI’s scowl became more pronounced with each word John spoke.

‘'Get out of this gym, shower, and make yourselves ready to report to CPO Mendez,’' he growled in a deadly calm, that was far more intimidating than shouting ever was.

John and Linda saluted, ‘'Sir, yes sir!'’

As they walked briskly from the gym, Linda felt like the eyes of every one of the other sib’s was on them, as well as the other DI’s, like an x-ray of confusion and disapproval. Strangely, rather than feeling ashamed, she felt defiant, and proud to be so.

….

They showered in silence; but the cool water did little to cool the flush of passion that began in the gym. John scrubbed at himself briskly, trying with utmost futility to put what happened in the gym out of his mind. He gasped softly as Linda’s arms circled around him from behind…the sigh becoming a faint cry as her hand stroked against his embarrassing stiffness. She kissed his back, feeling him tremble.

Linda’s thumb stroked against him, evoking a moan from John, ending in a louder cry. He had never seen things going like this; Linda in charge, and him…loving it. The task of washing and reporting put right out of his mind.

….

Dr. Catharine Halsey looked away from her monitor, took off her glasses, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She exhaled a few deep breaths, willing the odd mix of anger and guilt to vanish. A few more seconds passed; she replaced her glasses, leaned back in her chair and bit her lip. A soft cry made her sit up again and look at the monitor.

Linda was still behind John, her right arm around him, clearly still pleasuring him.

Dr. Halsey shook her head, and took off her glasses again, blurring the image slightly…how could she have assumed something like this _wouldn’t_ happen? They were, after all, teenagers. She had been sure this had all been  nipped in the bud, in the case of these two, back during the first week…apparently not.

Her first instinct was to have them both punished somehow, but that would lead only to resentment, and perhaps noncompliance…and they needed that…completely. She switched off the sound as John let out another gasp; then she switched off the monitor. She felt obscene watching it…like she, not they, was what was wrong.

So…with that thought, she moved to what she _would_ ‘do’ about the situation. She smiled bitterly, it was perhaps more cruel than an ‘actual’ punishment. Since, nothing would be as final, consequential, and perhaps deadly. They would be augmented in six months; the result of which, would stifle all feelings, and acts like this. In the meantime, she would have Linda and John injected with a long lasting contraceptive, in case things got totally out of hand. She would also circumvent Mendez from punishing them, or even reviewing the situation. She would say she’d dealt with it; unorthodox…but for the best.

They were smart, in the lust of youth, yes, but smart, they probably wouldn’t get caught. She’d let them, for the sake of her own guilt at denying them everything, have their fun…it would all be over sooner than they knew.

She gave Deja the instructions, to give to Mendez, telling him not to worry about meeting with them, that it had been taken care of, by her.

‘'Are you sure this is wise, Doctor?'’ questioned the AI, a slight frown on her intelligent features. ‘'I mean, should we not be dissuading them from _all_ distraction?'’

Catharine sighed heavily, ‘'yes, we should, but Deja…there are times I can hardly bear what I _have_ done, and _am_ doing, and will _yet_ do to them; so on that ground, it doesn’t matter, I’ve taken everything from them, and in the next seven months, I might end up taking their lives too, far too early. They deserve _this_ …this _experience_ , they’ll likely, if they live, never have it again,'’

Deja narrowed her eyes slightly, '‘I suppose, Doctor. Though, you are approaching this from a very un- objectified stance, which is really impractical to our objectives-'‘

‘'Oh stop it Deja!'’ snapped Halsey, it was too much to hear her own ideologies and policies regurgitated back at her. The guilt she felt was like a sullen black weight, pressing on her from all sides, leaving her feeling as though she could scarcely breathe.

‘'Like I said,'’ sighed Catharine heavily, ‘'it may all be over, sooner than we can guess,'’

….

With one last, embarrassingly desperate moan, John released, aided by Linda’s gentle urging. He panted softly, eyes closed, the last few dribbles of water from the showerhead, falling coldly on his crown. Linda wrapped her other arm around him, placing soft kisses on his scapula. ‘'How… _how_ did you know to do that?'’ asked John faintly, his eyes still tightly shut, the sensations slowly fading…

He felt her smile against his skin. '‘Don’t you ever pay attention in Biology?'’

John felt his brain slowly coming back to life; he certainly had no memory of this from ANY Biology lesson…or any other lesson.

All further questions were cut off, as Deja’s voice came to life over the Coms; ‘'Recruits 117 and 058, report of the medical wing immediately,'’

John, still in a bit of a daze, moved himself to face Linda, while she kept her arms loosely about him. He looked down into her riveting green eyes, ‘'next time…I want…I want you feel…like you just made me feel,'’ he whispered huskily. Linda blushed under the intensity of his gaze, '‘what makes you think there’ll be a ‘’next time’’?'’ she whispered back, pressing her lips to his chest, keeping her eyes locked on his for a moment.

'‘We better get going, I don’t see why we’re  suddenly going to the infirmary, instead of to the Chief like we were supposed to,'’ muttered Linda, letting go of John, and drying herself, without waiting for his answer; gasping softly, as he tightly put his arms around her from behind, ‘'there _will_ be a next time Linda, I promise.’'

 

 

 


	5. Betrayed

 

 

 

‘'What were you and Linda doing?'’

John looked up from a homework problem on tactics he had been studying, looking into Kelly’s icy blue eyes.

‘'What do you mean?’' asked John casually, looking back to his work, scrolling to the next page with a swipe of his finger against the data pad.

Kelly sat on the edge of his cot, arms folded; he looked back up at her as she let out a slightly annoyed sigh. ‘'What?'’ asked John, feeling slightly annoyed now himself, looking her in the eyes. '‘You know ‘ _’what’’_ John.'’ Hissed Kelly, '‘you were groping Linda in the gym; you were kissing her too,'’

‘'Groping? No, not that I remember…we were wrestling, like everyone else,’'

‘'You kissed her,'’

‘'No…’'

‘'John…’'

‘'So…what if I did?'’

'‘Why?’'

‘'Kelly…I can’t really see how this is any of your business,'’

‘'Of course you can’t,'’

John watched her face harden, as though she was protecting herself from something, from within; her eyes though, looked slightly wet.

‘'What’s that on your arm?’' she asked, changing the subject, jerking her head at the patch of white cotton and opaque tape from the injection he had received with Linda that afternoon. ‘'It’s a dressing they put on this afternoon, I got a shot, Halsey’s orders,'’

Kelly looked vaguely confused by this, but gave no further comment.

‘'I’m sorry Kelly…'’ whispered John, '‘me too,'’ she whispered back, then got abruptly to her feet, walking briskly from the barracks; John unable to ignore her wiping her eyes as she left the room.

 


	6. A Promise to Keep

 

 

It was the last training exercise of the year; a fact however, that gave John no pleasure. He could not ignore the gnawing worry deep within himself, that things were somehow about to get a lot worse…a lot more brutal. They, the ‘sibs’ would all be turning 14 within the next few months; they had been kept so busy for the last six, that they’d hardly had time to breathe. Yet…he knew it was going to get more intense.

His promise to Linda, that afternoon in the shower, floated through his thoughts; had he promised something he really was not going to be able to fulfill? The thought made him oddly anxious, and he wasn’t sure if this was from the fact that despite all the relentless training, and therefore non-existent time they had spent together, he still found her a distraction, especially at times like this; or if it was simply the thought of not keeping his word…which for him was like losing. Maybe it was both.

The forest was dark, cold, and very quiet. John huddled more tightly into the little nook he had scouted out, a spot not ten paces from the flag. It had meant putting in six extra hours of bush navigation and stealth…but he had to win…and he would. Exhausted, sleep tugged at him in irresistible waves; his eyelids drooped, he felt himself fading, until he was sound asleep.

 A slender figure wound its way up the gentle slope, pausing every few seconds, to listen, and watch. Linda smiled, 117 wouldn’t be winning this round; nor had he been the only one to put in the extra effort. She was a little surprised, as she covered the last 20 feet to the base of the short flag pole, that the others hadn’t tried to do what she and John had; surely they must have known that he would be right where he was, right now. Didn’t they want to try and beat him? Apparently not, she had passed most of them, asleep at various points along the way. Kelly and Sam were next nearest, cuddled together, about half a mile back.

With satisfaction, she silently slid the flag from the rope, and stuffed it down her shirt. She looked over to where John was curled on his side under a shallow outcropping, sound asleep. Linda drifted over, and squatted down, then knelt, gazing at his face; his hair, like all of theirs, needed cutting, it flopped across his forehead, adding to the scruffiness that was the result of a month in the woods. Linda wanted to touch him, but she resisted.

…

He opened his eyes, instantly aware of a presence. Slowly he turned his head, and smiled. Carefully, he moved to be on his hands and knees. He looked up, judging by the stars it was at least five hours until dawn. He then looked back at the slender girl, asleep, with her back against the side of his little cave. Linda’s face was ghostly white in the soft moonlight, an effect that gave her an ethereal quality; her long, dark lashes standing out sharply against her pale cheeks. He was struck anew how beautiful she was…which was saying something, considering the rugged state of appearance they were all currently in.

John’s smile became more pronounced, as he noticed the bit of red poking from the neck of her shirt. He actually felt a little bad; she’d put in all this effort, but for nothing. His plan, his effort to get here early was slightly underhanded. He had taken the real flag, and replaced it with one of his own, that was the same color, but had no emblem on it; the real one was tucked safely in his bag. At this point in his life, he couldn’t take risks…even with something as seemingly childish as this type of exercise.

He reached out to wake her.

‘'Ah,'’ John pinched his thumb and forefinger to his nose, staunching the flow of blood. The stinging radiating all the way up his forehead; he caught her second punch with his free hand, watching her eyes widen, realizing whom she was attacking.

‘'John, are you alright?'’ breathed Linda, concern wrinkling her brow for a moment, reaching out to wipe at the blood on his upper lip.

‘'I’m so sorry,'’ she said, as John smiled, '‘don’t be. It’s good to see how quickly you react. Really, what did I expect? I woke you, and I paid the price; after all, it’s not like you were expecting it,’'

Linda smiled faintly back, her fingertips tracing lightly against his lip, in a way that had nothing to do with wiping blood. John un-pinched his nose, and dabbed lightly at his nostrils, glad the bleeding had stopped, it would’ve made what he hoped was about to happen, messy.

Linda withdrew her hand from its gentle inspection of his lips, they gazed at each other for another few moments, then John scooted forward, putting his face close to hers, she was looking down, he nuzzled her nose softly with his, as their foreheads met, leaning against each other. Their earthy, sweaty smell mixed with the fresh crisp air and the faint waft of various conifers in a surprisingly pleasant way.

Linda exhaled sharply as John’s hand slid under her jacket and under her shirt, his fingers cold against her skin. He gently tugged out the flag, he pulled away, a wry, twisted smile on his face as he unfolded it, showing that it was nothing more than a piece of red cloth; feeling bad, as Linda’s mouth turned to a hard line. Maybe he should have waited to break the news to her…he suddenly felt like he might have blown whatever might have come of this opportunity.

 She slapped him. Yes, it definitely had been the wrong time. He sighed inwardly; she snatched the flag away, and threw it to the side. ‘'You little _bastard_ ,'’ she murmured, but with a laugh in her voice, making John look at her, watching her smile widen, her eyes sparkled, '‘well, it hardly seems fair, all the extra effort I put in, and for _what_? I better get _something_ for all my trouble,’' she whispered teasingly.

John felt his cheeks burn, so, she did want _this_ …wanted him… _that_ with _him_ ; this was his chance then, to keep his word. '‘I’m sure it’ll be a _better_ prize anyway,'’ said Linda, leaning in so her lips ghosted over his as she spoke. '‘I expect your _best_ though… it’s the least you can do,’'

‘'Yes _ma’am_ ,'’ replied John, his eyes falling shut, as their lips met, that wonderful, electric feeling trilling through his abdomen, and across his chest.

Well, he would try his best.

Linda sighed softly, as his kiss became rougher, trailing down her neck, her skin prickling, from things that had nothing to do with cold; as he whispered questions to her, gentle inquiries, that were cute rather than annoying, as he sought her reassurance that she liked what he was doing.

It was strange, strange but wonderful the effect the simple sound of his voice was having on her, at least as it correlated to their current situation. Even though he was young, it had deepened pleasantly, and seemed less prone to the embarrassing, squeaking breaks some of the other boys struggled with.

Linda lay back, eyes lightly closed, her back arching gently, as John’s hand slid across her skin, at the top of her pants; the moment broken slightly, as he let out a soft curse, struggling with her belt and zipper. Linda looked down at him, grinning. '‘Need help?’’ she teased, throwing a pebble at him, as he glanced at her with a scowl, '‘No.’’

Linda just chuckled softly; feeling her belt open, and the zipper come down; a faint anxiety thrilled through her stomach, as she obligingly lifted her hips, so that he could pull her pants down to her knees.

His fingers paused at the waistband of her underwear, then he carefully, slowly, pulled them down; the chilly air washing over her bareness, making gooseflesh. The stones, and bits of assorted, growing and discarded foliage slightly uncomfortable against her nakedness; but she wouldn’t stop him, or explain that something under her would feel better…he was already so nervous.

She knew of course, what this would entail, though, John probably only had the strictest Biological idea, not having hacked into the nets, as she had on several occasions…just to see if she could; once there, curious about the changes in her body, and why she felt flushed and dizzy suddenly around some of the boys, and why some of them were looking at her in such a predatory manner; she’d learned about sex and arousal, beyond the bare biological facts.

She gasped as John’s lips pressed against her abdomen, warmly contrasted to her cool skin; gently working their way down, nuzzling into the soft nest of hair above the apex of her legs. His hands sliding over her thighs, as he straddled her legs, his right hand sliding between them, then up, stroking against her, exploring; Linda stiffened with pain, as he slid his finger into her opening; he paused, feeling the change in her body. Their eyes met, he looked worried, she bit her lip, ‘'I’m fine…it always hurts for a girl…its normal…’' she whispered.

John did not look convinced, but, with another pebble bouncing off his forehead, and a half smile from Linda, he proceeded, slowly, waiting for her to adjust, until his finger was all the way in.

Despite the pain, Linda made herself relax, and after a couple of tries, it didn’t hurt so much; only, now John didn’t seem to know what to do. With a sigh, and a little wince, she sat up, hands quickly unbuckling his belt; he gently pushed her hands away, seeming to get the picture, as he unzipped his fly and pulled his underwear down, then gently pushed Linda back, pausing over her for a moment or two, then pushing in. He was surprised how aroused he was…considering how nervous he felt…but then, Linda just had that effect on him.

Linda let out a real cry of pain this time, unable to stop it; John stopping in alarm,

‘'Keep going!’’ Growled Linda with gritted teeth, bumping her knee against his hip; John hesitantly did as she told him, but felt worried. It had been so good for him, and even now, it felt great.                                                

After a couple more slow insertions and withdrawals, he came.

He lay against her, panting lightly, and feeling very guilty. He knew she’d gotten zero enjoyment out of it.

Linda took some deep breaths. It had hurt worse than she thought; yet, there was no one else that she would ever have wanted to give herself to, to allow to share this experience with her. So for that, it was worth it…even if it had hurt like hell…and John really hadn’t a clue; which wasn’t his fault.

John’s lips found hers, as he propped himself on his elbows, ‘'I’m sorry,'’ he whispered, pulling away, nuzzling his nose against hers. '‘For what?'’  Asked Linda softly, stroking her fingers against his hair, '‘For this not being good…for you…for hurting you…'’

‘'I told you, it hurts for the girl,'’

‘'Why didn’t you say so before?’'

Linda shrugged, ‘'it wouldn’t have changed anything; I wanted to share this with you, even if it hurt me,'’

John took this in silently, then kissed her again, ‘'thank you,'’

‘'For what?’'

‘'Trusting me to share this with you; even if it wasn’t very good,'’

Linda sighed, ‘'It _was_ good, because it was with _you_ , because you kept your promise, because you wanted me, and because, I asked you for your best, and you gave it,'’

John smiled faintly at this, but still felt like he’d failed.

Eventually, with assorted underwear and pants pulled up, they fell asleep, curled together.

…

A faint, greenish grey light began to warm the eastern horizon, tingeing the thin clouds pink and blue, as John’s eyes slowly came open.

Linda’s back was still snuggled to his chest, his knees curled into the curve of the backs of hers. He rubbed his hand lazily against her stomach, her coat making a faint crinkling sound, the fabric cold in the early spring air.

John nuzzled his nose against the hair at Linda’s nape, pressing his lips gently to the cool skin. There was still at least an hour before it would be fully morning; despite what Linda had said, to ease his blundering performance, it was still, to him unacceptable. Tired though he had been, he’d woken up several times in the past four hours that they’d been sleeping for, going over it all…and making a plan.

Carefully detaching himself from Linda, John got to his feet, and picked up the discarded ‘fake flag’ he’d made, and re attached it to the small flag pole. He guessed that within the next twenty minutes, one, or several of the sibs would be here to claim it.

He shouldered his pack, and turned back to wake Linda, to find her looking at him, propped on one elbow.

‘'C’mon, I want to show you something,’’ he said, picking up her pack as well, and slinging it on his other shoulder. Not able to miss that as she rose, her mouth tightened a little in pain.

Wordlessly they set off, as the cold dim light began to be faintly golden, right at the horizon line.

Linda walked along behind John, knowing she should take her pack herself, certainly if the DI’s or the Chief found out, they’d be pissed. But then…if they’d seen what they had done last night…John carrying her pack was the least of their worries.

Oddly, this did not instill fear in her, rather a fleeting defiant thrill. She smiled, and quickened her pace, to walk beside John, and take his hand; ignoring the raw pain between her legs.

It had been worth it.

John led them up a gently sloping hill, which overlooked the small outcropping they’d slept under, and the flat area in front, containing the pretender flag.

Linda guessed they were going to hide in the woods, and watch the other sibs’ distress at finding the flag was a fake; so when John didn’t stop after they’d moved further into the woods, than where they’d be able to see the flag, Linda felt faintly confused, but allowed John to lead her. She felt strangely tired, and it was sort of a relief to have him taking control like this.

John came to a halt as they reached a little clearing, hundreds of yards into the wood. Even though it was early spring, because it was the south side, the grass was a bright, lush green, and small mountain flowers had begun to poke up, and bloom in shades of soft purple, yellow and blue.

Most beautiful perhaps, and surprising, given their elevation and the time of year, was one of the native trees, covered in clusters of dusky yellow blossoms. Linda let go of John’s hand, and moved closer, looking up at it; it seemed to preside over the small clearing, petals falling lazily in the light breeze; a sweet scent dispersing from the agitated blooms.

John watched as Linda looked over her shoulder at him, a smile of surprised delight on her face. He returned her expression, happy the tree had cooperated.

He’d found this place as he’d made his final push to claim the flag a couple days ago. The wildflowers had only been nubs then, and the tree had been covered only in teasing buds; so it was nice, that for this, his morning where he’d attempt to redeem himself, it had bloomed, and that Linda was enchanted by the sight.

As her gaze returned to the blossom laden tree, John set the packs down, and then slipped off his coat, laying it on the damp grass; there had been many details of last night he had gone over, and made metal improvements to, that he intended to now put into action.

He guessed that there would be about another two hours until they would be expected, and since he had the flag, it wouldn’t matter if he got there last…besides, he sort of didn’t care.

A faint ripple of worry moved through his mind at that thought, like a warning that he was getting too wrapped up in Linda.

Oh well.

Linda turned, to find John smoothing his coat on the grass; he looked up, smiling at her a little shyly.

She walked over, cocking her head to the side, raising a slightly quizzical brow; ‘’what are you doing? It’s a little chilly to be in short sleeves, and you’ll make your coat wet,’’

He didn’t answer, holding her gaze, until a faint flush warmed her white cheeks. She smirked, ‘’alright, if you say so,’’ she whispered, removing her own coat, and setting it alongside his, while her heart began to thump with a mixture of anticipation and excitement.

John took her hand, pulling her gently down beside him; she studied his face, taking in the high cheekbones, strong, straight nose, full, firm lips, his cheeks dusted with a faint sprinkling of freckles against his lightly tanned skin. The intensity of his gaze making her shiver with lust. Their eyes remained locked a moment longer, before his lashes fanned down; he hesitated a moment, then pressed his lips to hers, feeling her smile against his exploring mouth, then returning his actions with her own kisses.

His hands slid slowly over her shoulders, and down her chest, where he cupped her breasts, making Linda moan softly, against his mouth, arching her back as his thumbs rubbed her nipples through the thin cotton of her shirt. Their kisses became harder, hungrier and almost desperate.

They broke apart long enough for John to pull Linda’s shirt off, and for her to do the same for him; he let out a surprised gasp as her mouth pressed hotly to his exposed flesh, looking up at him with green, luminous eyes. He felt a tightening, pulse of heat between his legs.

Gently he pushed her back, and moved to straddle her, as her hands went to his belt, roughly pulling it open, then his fly, pushing his pants down to his hips. John took her eagerness as a promising sign, that she trusted him enough to give him a second chance.

John looked at her with dark blue eyes, as his hands pulled her pants down, along with her panties; he took in her bare body, letting his hands explore, caressing, stroking, and appreciating. Sure he’d seen her in the shower, for years now, and yes, he’d had thoughts, and had wondered what she might feel like…

But nothing compared to reality.

The way she sighed, moaned, and murmured, arched her back, trembled, gasped…and all because of what he was doing to her, because of what they were sharing…was euphoric.

Her nails dug hard into his shoulder, crying out, and tensing, as their bodies connected. John controlled his eagerness, and checked his blooming self-doubt; proceeding very slowly, kissing her, trying to help her relax.

Gradually her hips bucked against his, and he moved with more urgency.

It lasted little longer than it had last night, but this time, much to Linda’s pleasure, and surprise, John slipped his fingers between them, and found the spot he hadn’t seemed to know about last night. Apparently he’d remembered what he’d learned about in anatomy.

Linda’s body tightened again, but this time with pleasure, and she gave a long gasping cry, tearing her nails against his back, and moaning out her short, intense climax, making him growl in reply, both from his own release, and the pain of the scratches.

John flopped against her, both of them spent, and panting lightly. Linda absently stroked his hair, as he nuzzled the crook of her neck, lightly kissing her clavicle.

After a while John propped himself on his elbows, he looked appreciatively at Linda’s flushed cheeks, smiled at how beautiful she was. There was no need for words; the approval he found in her face was all the reassurance he needed.

In the warm, glowing light of the early morning, she looked ethereal once more; soft, and milky white, radiant and adorned with fallen yellow petals.

In years to come, it would be an image John would remember; bringing him a spark of light, and a balm to the hell that raged around him; a warmth, and joy, at the knowledge, that there had been beauty in his world once, and that in that image, there could still be, if only for a moment.

…

As he anticipated, they arrived next to last, only Kirk, Cal and Randal were slower, and only because Randal had fallen, and probably broken his ankle, and Kirk and Cal had stayed back to help him.

He was congratulated on his win, and for receiving top honors for the term, but John hardly paid attention, his hand longing to reach out and take Linda’s, while he fought down the feeling of unexplained dread, and anxiety, that the morning they had shared, the contact they had had, would probably be their last.

 


	7. Empty

 

 

To say it had been a hard day would have been putting it very mildly. Adjectives like, ‘’devastating’’ or ‘’crippling’’ (no pun remotely intended) or even ‘’heart-wrenching’’ would all have been more appropriate.

Thirty; thirty were dead. Gone, outright; all those years of hell, and struggle and sacrifice, from age six onward, to a cause that was not of their choosing…and now, they were dead. They had failed the final test. _He_ had failed, to prepare them enough for it. He knew though, that his wasn’t true, that he really had no ownership in their inability to survive the augmentation…but it hardly mattered. He was their leader, he had failed them. The knowledge of this left an ache of emptiness in his chest that he knew would never be fully healed.

Twelve others; John shuddered slightly, not in disgust, but pity; were reduced to cripples, nothing left but their ability to think, and strategize, from broken bodies. Would it have been better they had died too? Or was it enough that they at least still had some chance to serve…after all they had been through, as he had told the Chief. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to ignore the trails of wet sliding slowly down his cheeks.

 The sight of Kirk and Rene, supported by gel; bodies broken and twisted, lives supported entirely by machines, or Fhajad, who he had been close to his whole life, who had always been part of his handpicked teams…now crippled, and gone forever from his side were burned into his retinas and etched with guilt into his soul.

Thirty-two had made it. Many of them, only barely; Kelly in particular, was in very bad shape. She was unconscious, and running a very high fever. Her skin was covered in bloody blisters. She too, was mostly only alive right now, via a respirator and other mechanical supports. Sam was with her now, and John felt like that was best. They had become very close, besides, Sam, of all of them, was recovering fast.

John pressed his forehead to the viewport, and half opened his eyes, gazing into the abyss, thinking of his ‘’siblings’’, floating in their canisters for eternity in the empty blackness; an iciness sinking into his guts, that he felt would never thaw. He startled slightly noticing another reflection in the glass; a deathly pale face, with dark circles under their eyes.

 John straightened up, and slowly turned, taking in Linda. She like him was still in her black dress uniform; unbuttoned at the collar, showing the livid red scars on her neck, her skirt showing the ones on her shins and calves. The green eyes that looked at him now, were empty, and held none of the sparkle they had before the procedure a week ago. Though, this might have been only due to the toll it had taken on her body, as well as the emotional toll today; so John hoped. It was almost too much, with everything else, to see Linda look so hollow. She smiled at him faintly, a twisted, pained sort of smile and then took a couple steps forward, and leaned herself against him. John slowly raised his arms, and put them loosely around her; this small effort causing his elbows to ache; he ignored it, Linda, was more important…he wanted, _needed_ to comfort her…and himself.

He rested his cheek against the slight red fuzz that was the extent of her hairs regrowth to this point. She was doing well he was still bald. It felt good to have her close to him again; he tried to ignore that the feeling wasn’t as intense as it had been…but then, he was so exhausted he could hardly stand…he hoped that was all it was, even though something told him otherwise.

Linda gently pulled away after a few minutes. They looked into each other’s eyes, John feeling relieved that hers looked a little less dull. She reached up, and brushed at the tracks of dried blood on his cheeks, from his tears…frowning slightly.

He knew what she was doing, and took her hand, kissing her fingertips, watching a bloody tear run down her own cheek, his brows rising in confusion. '‘It’s never going to be the same, John,’' she whispered, leaning against him again, pressing her cheek to his chest. John kissed her hand again, feeling unbidden wetness on his cheeks anew, knowing that she was right.

 

 


	8. First Blood

 

 

It wasn’t right.

How could he have done that?

He’d killed them.

It was the first time…he’d killed anyone…

Four men…were dead, killed, by him.

The icy knot in his stomach tightened.

Was he so hardened, that he really had been inclined to think no more of it?

A leaden guilt pressed at him like a sullen grey sky. Murder; he’d committed _murder_ …

It had been a set-up.

They’d let it happen…

What had he become?

He felt trapped. He was owned by them…only what they had made him…made him into…

A puppet…

A fancy new armament…

What had happened in the gym had been akin to calibration, a test fire…

Revulsion crawled over him.

This was the organization he served…

 _‘’No,’’_ said a quiet voice in the corner of his thoughts… _’’no, this is the organization you’ve been_ made _to serve in; one that finds nothing wrong, with setting up a situation where a fourteen year old boy…a child…will maim and kill…four men…as a ‘practice run,’’’’_

John closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and took some deep breaths. After a moment or two, he peeled off his shirt.

The vivid red stains, spattered across it, seemed to shout at him in damning accusation. His hands shook slightly as he stared at the garment, from things that had nothing to do with post augmentation weakness.

Tearing his gaze away, he dropped it on the bench, and stripped off the rest of his clothes, and made for the showers.

The warm water pelted his skin, as he leaned against the wall, braced on one arm, watching vacantly as the blood washed off his forearm and fist of his other hand. Swirling away in rivulets, onto the white tiles, and down the drain, like it was nothing…like it wasn’t the stains of a man’s life…

_I’m a monster…_

…

Linda peered into the gym, her brow bunching in confusion, and annoyance. The doors were locked, and the area by the boxing ring was occupied with cleaning drones, and medical personal, conversing, and making notes.

Her confusion turned to alarm as she looked more closely at the drones. One moving a little further off, to scrub at what she was sure was a blood stain, a very large blood stain. Quickly realizing that they were all working on cleaning up what must have been a very bloody scene.

What could possibly have happened on a ship, in that part of the gym, to cause and accident like that?

A nagging worry tickled in the back of her mind; something was not right…somehow this had to do with them; with the sibs…she could sense it.

‘’What’s going on?’’

Linda startled out of her thoughts, and sharply turned her head, taking in Fred, with a towel over one shoulder, and a water bottle in his hand.

‘’I…I’m not sure,’’ replied Linda quietly, ‘’something’s happened in the gym, an accident, there’s blood stains all over the floor,’’

‘’What?’’ Murmured Fred, with the same worried confusion as Linda, moving to look through the door himself; turning back to look at Linda moments later, his expression closed, but concerned.

‘’Well…maybe it’s nothing…or at least not to do with us. I mean, I can’t think what could possibly have happened…’’

Linda raised her eyebrow, ‘’nothing? There is _nothing_ about whatever happened in there, that could be classified as ‘nothing.’ Besides, I have this sick feeling, that it does have something to do with us,’’

Fred nodded, ‘’I know, you’re probably right. What do you want to do?’’

Linda bit her lower lip, and glanced back into the gym, in time for one of the medical personal to notice her, then Fred. He nudged one of his colleagues, gesturing at the two young Spartans. Linda watched as the colleague, a woman, mouth formed into a frown, as she gave a subtle shake of her head, and muttered something to the man, who narrowed his eyes and nodded, before both of them turned back to their work.

‘’Freaks,’’

Linda looked over at Fred, feeling a flush of shame and anger wash over her.

Yes, that was the word the woman used.

‘’C’mon,’’ said Linda turning sharply on her heel, ‘’there’s another smaller gym on the lower deck, no one said we couldn’t use it, and I really need to blow off some steam…’’

Fred followed, the slight of the woman’s cruel word, lessened slightly, by the presence of Linda’s hand on his forearm, as she led him along.

The gym was thankfully empty when they arrived, and Linda quickly headed to the punching bag. Fred watched her go, missing the contact of her hand, as he set down his towel and water bottle on the bench near the door.

He gazed at her for a few seconds longer, enjoying the look of concentration on her face, the force with which her fists impacted the bag, making it creak and moan on its chain. Against his will, his eyes slid further down.

Her sweat dampened shirt clung to her lithe, muscular body; a body which was also shapely. He looked away from her, knowing it was inappropriate. But, a guy could still have dreams. He sighed and made his way over the weights.

Gasping, Linda leaned forward, resting her fists on her knees, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. Licking away a bead of sweat, as it ran over her lip. Her vision pounded, wavering slightly, with each beat of her heart.

She cursed her weakness. Hated that her stamina was still lower than it should be, or at least what she felt it ought to be. Her hands throbbed, her wrists, elbows and shoulders too. Gradually, her respiration and heart rate slowed, and stabilized, and she slowly straightened, stretching, and shaking out her arms.

Moving to the treadmill, she glanced over to see what Fred was up to. What she saw surprised her.

Fred was doing chin-ups, and he was shirtless.

Linda momentarily forgot both her sense of unease, and her anger.

Fred had really matured. Gone was the scrawny little boy, and slightly gangly youth. The young man pulling himself up, and easing himself down, was toned, and pleasingly muscular. Linda watched a bead of sweat run down his chest, to his navel, at last being absorbed by the waistband of his shorts.

She watched his forearms and biceps contract and relax once more, before he let himself drop to the mat below. He glanced at her, a small grin tugging at his mouth, ‘’I can help you, if you want a turn,’’ he half teased, half offered, surprising himself with his boldness.

Linda swallowed, and looked away, ‘’no, my arms are still unfortunately hurting. I was going to use the treadmill,’’

Fred shrugged, ‘’yeah, I could use a run too,’’

‘’We should probably get out of here, before anyone else shows up,’’ suggested Fred, after they’d exhausted themselves, and Linda was sure her knees would never stop burning. Nodding, Linda hobbled after Fred to the bench, feeling foolish for brining neither towel nor water with her. While at the same time being slightly distracted by Fred’s back, watching sweat periodically run down his olive skin; watching gooseflesh pebble up, as the moisture was hit by a faint breeze from the ventilation system.

Linda rubbed her arm across her forehead, pushing her damp hair back, and removing the worst of the sweat.

‘’Here,’’

She looked at the proffered towel, and opened her mouth to decline, ‘’I insist. I’ll use my shirt,’’ Fred encouraged.

Linda took the towel, vigorously rubbing it over her hair, face and neck. ‘’Thanks,’’ she murmured, hating that her cheeks were a little warm, from things that had nothing to do with exercise.

‘’I’ll even share my water,’’ Fred murmured, sloshing the bottle invitingly.

‘’No, thank you, I’m fine,’’ lied Linda, handing him his towel. ‘’What I want most, is a shower,’’

Fred nodded, ‘’yeah, that’s what I want most too,’’

Well, it was half true.

Actually…it wasn’t true at all.

What he wanted was standing right in front of him; with long lean legs, a beautiful face, a quiet, yet engaging personality, and the most beautiful red hair, which right now, was adorably messy.

‘’Well, shall we go?’’

Fred nodded, pulling his shirt over his damp body; using his towel to quickly dry his face and hair, his longing, and his angst deepening as he inhaled Linda’s scent, knowing, as he followed her from the gym, that she was already spoken for…not that anything like that would matter anymore. They weren’t supposed to have feelings now.

Only…they did...at least he did.

…

The ship seemed oddly quiet as they made their way up a deck. The gym was still locked, and all the lights were off inside. Linda’s sense of foreboding returned with force, making her feel slightly nauseated. Where was John? She’d not seen him all day.

How could she have let that stupid woman get her so mad? She shouldn’t have gone to the other gym, she should have listened to her instinct…she should have made inquiries, she should have gone to John, to either report what she’d found…or to assure that he’d not been the one involved.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The showers too, were gloomy, and unoccupied. Fred flicked on the lights, and Linda was just about to forego the shower, and search for John, when she noticed something on the bench, that made her blood turn to ice.

Linda paused, her fingers closing lightly over the blood-stained white shirt. Taking it in both hands, a sinking feeling deepening over her, as she ran her thumb over the small black 117.  Handing it to Fred, she made for the shower area.

John was slumped down with his back against the wall. One knee tucked to his chest, his other leg stretched out in front of him, his arms limp by his sides.

Linda hesitated a moment, emotions welling and vacillating, before she moved onto the tiled surface, and squatted down beside her closest friend, her erstwhile, yet longed for lover.

His head was angled down, his features hidden. His shoulder felt like ice against her fingers. She scooted closer, her shin bumping his thigh, as she let her fingers settle against his cheek, cupping it.

‘’John..?’’ She murmured softly, ‘’John, what’s wrong? What’s going on?’’

Slowly he lifted his head. His face was ashen, and his blue eyes dead, and hollow looking. It sent a wave of panic through Linda. She placed her other hand on his face, pressing with her thumbs, willing a response out of him. She’d not seem him so empty, so bleak for months…not since the ‘funeral.’

‘’John…’’

‘’I killed them,’’

His words were brittle, and seemed to stick in his throat, barely audible.

‘’What? Killed _who_?’’ pressed Linda, fighting down her fear, her voice getting colder, rather than the normal response of higher pitched, and strained.

‘’In the gym…four of them…I killed them,’’

‘’I didn’t mean to…I wanted to just leave, I didn’t want to fight them…I didn’t…I…’’ John tapered off, a low keening sound coming out instead, as he bowed his head once more, and clenched his teeth, shoulders shuddering, as he gasped, fighting back his emotions.

Linda put her arms around him, relieved when he clung to her, his hands gripping her shirt in fists.

‘’What have they done to us?’’ he moaned against her neck, a miserable, emotionally agonized sound, ‘’Linda, _what have they made us into?’’_

“Soldiers. Loyal, obedient, effective,’’ she whispered, the answer coming mechanically to her lips. Feeling sickened at her meaningless comfort. Her empty words.

Linda bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste blood. She knew the real answer of course, and so did he.

They’ve made us into killing _machines_.

Cold, methodical, killers.

Linda gasped softly as John suddenly pressed his lips to hers; the action was clumsy, and unsure, and after a few seconds, he pulled away, letting out another half sob, his forehead resting against hers, but releasing her from his grip. Linda knew why. The spark was gone…the feeling of burning, the feeling of being dizzily alive…all gone. She still loved him, but she could hardly feel the confirming response that she did. Bitter tears stung her own eyes…as she clenched harder on the flesh of her cheek, a coldness sinking deeper into her being. A protection, a way to stay sane…in what promised to be nothing but a life of insanity…and cruel loss.

‘’No,’’ he breathed, the words hardly more than the air escaping his lips, ‘’we are nothing more than organic automations,’’

Fred watched the scene before him with outward blankness. Inwardly, he felt a mixture of horror and revulsion. He knew that there was no way John had done this on purpose. Clearly, he was tormented by his actions.

So, he’d been set up.

Like a test.

He’d not missed John’s whispered words either. They chilled him to the bone. It was true. Since augmentation, everything had changed. It was a little scary; it was like losing a piece of yourself, like it had been shoved down somewhere, where you could no longer access it. You still felt things, but could no longer process feeling them properly, so you just sort of ignored them.

Tossing the stained shirt in the collection hamper, Fred distracted himself from any further attempts at analysis. He had to try and help with the situation as best he could.

Linda looked over at Fred as he knelt on John’s other side, a towel opened in his hands. ‘’C’mon sir, your cold, and can’t stay here all night,’’ intoned Fred quietly, settling the towel across John’s shoulders.

John slowly raised his head, from where it had been nestled against Linda’s chest, looking at Fred with a vague expression, like he didn’t recognize him.

‘ _’Sir?_ ’’ Whispered John, an ironic, bitter smile on his lips, ‘’Fred, please…’’

Fred shrugged, ‘’fine, _John_ , get the fuck up, it’s cold in here, and I’m not going to let you be found, and likely harassed, in this condition,’’

John sighed, ‘’ah, so loyal,’’ he mumbled getting stiffly to his feet, pulling the towel down from his shoulders and securing it around his waist.

He put his arm around Linda, leaning his head against hers, letting her walk him out of the showers, to the quarters they and the other sib’s shared; glancing over his shoulder at Fred, before disappearing out the doorway, the look conveyed one of gratitude, and perhaps, ashamed apology, for his weakness.

Fred digested it all for several minutes, before settling himself, his feelings, and following after them.

 …

In the following days, nothing much was said about the incident. Certainly, John acted like nothing had happened. Linda though, knew it had shaken him deeply, and that he was still sickened by it.

 But generally, it was like it hadn’t even happened; like they were all to sort of pretend it hadn’t or to view it in only the way Chief Mendez had reworked it; that John had been under attack, and had defended himself, as well as followed orders, neutralizing a threat.

Linda, and surely the others, did not, however, fail the miss the looks, or hear the muttered comments of the crew, and the other members of the services.

They were now forever marked. Hated, admired, and feared.

Branded, set apart. Not quite human, in the eyes of others.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The killing of the ODST's.  
> This part of The Fall of Reach always bothered me; for the obvious reason, but mostly for how John was portrayed as reacting to it. I personally refuse to believe he was so trained, so deadened that it didn't bother him, more than it seemed to. In the book, he does have a guilty twinge, and so, I've built on that. I mean, it was a really stupid thing to have him do, certainly it only served to breed hate for the Spartans. Indeed, nearly three decades later, Major Silva, in The Flood, was still resentful, and holding it against them, and especially John.  
> It was rather like setting up, and then letting Ender kill Bonzo, in Ender's Game. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was more angsty than romantic...and it sort of ran away with me. The coming chapters will likely be the same...I suppose I'm diverting a little from my story summary, but, I think all fan fiction does that, a little anyway. The story gets a life of it's own, and flows in it's own way.


	9. This is War

 

 

Linda looked away, her heart pounding, feeling compelled to panic, cry and comfort at the same time. While outwardly, she showed no particular emotion at all; certainly no sign of the turmoil inside of her.

John was clutching his side, moaning between clenched teeth; a horrible dark stain spreading like an abominable flower over the scuzzy blue coveralls, under his gloved hand.

Why had he been the one to get shot?

She couldn’t…

She couldn’t lose him…not yet; the thought of facing the future, without him to lead them terrified her. While at the same time, she was amazed at her selfishness…who would she rather, of the team, get shot in John’s place?

None of them, of course…

_But not him either!_

She glanced back, her mouth tightening at the sight of Kelly’s gloves, slick and soaked with John’s blood.

She made herself watch, as Kelly inserted the tip of the Biofoam canister to the wound in John’s abdomen; watched his blanched face, contort in pain, his eyes pinched tightly shut. Watched as his breathing slowed, steadied; watched as Kelly pulled him close, cradling his head against her shoulder, her fingers stroking his bicep, leaving ugly rust-colored stains on the blue fabric.

Linda looked away, but not before Kelly caught her eye.

It was only for a second, and Linda wasn’t entirely sure what Kelly conveyed to her with that look. Triumph? Relief? Jealousy?

Linda for her part, felt resentment and shame, and perhaps, below that, jealousy.

She should have tended to him. She was sickened at herself, at her weakness…her fear.

This was reality now.

This was the risk she would make with her life, and the lives of those in the team…

This was war.

…

He shifted, biting down on his lip, at the burning pain in his abdomen. John let his eyes come partially open, glad that the room was so dim. He shuddered slightly, trying to ignore that he felt chilled, and ignore all his discomfort in general. He didn’t have time for it; or for this injury. He cursed himself for not being more careful, though, it had been pretty unavoidable; but still, getting shot on your first mission, even if it had been a success, sucked.

 ‘‘How are you feeling?’’

 He jumped slightly, then winced, and looked to his right. Linda was sitting on the floor, with her back against his cot; she slowly turned her head, as she sensed his movement. ‘‘I’m alright’,’ John lied. ‘‘What are you doing here?’’

‘‘Checking on you, obviously,’’ answered Linda, an uncustomary hint of tartness in her normally cool, calm voice. One, as John quickly reflected, had become more so, since augmentation.

‘’Well…thanks…like I said, I’m fine,’’ he insisted, wondering how long she had been sitting there…and feeling a fleeting thrill at the thought of her being worried over him, and watching over his recovery.

Wondering too, why he was lying to her. He hated the distance that had grown between them, how hard it was to feel emotionally connected…how forbidden, the very idea of that was…

When, really, he knew it could've never lasted. He'd known, that morning on Reach, that this, his desire for love, his relationship to Linda…was doomed.

It didn’t mean though, that he hated the fact any less…felt any less desire for things to be different.

Linda pursed her lips for a moment and got to her, feet, unfurling the blanket she had been sitting on, and placed it over him. Silencing his protests with a look; she leaned over him, and pinned it tightly against him as she held it in both hands, one on each side of his shoulders; her breath warm on his lips as she spoke, her eyes locked on his, ‘’that was too close today John,’’

Before he could reply, she pulled away, and walked from their barracks without a back look. He looked at the doorway, for several minutes after she'd gone; trying to ignore the uncomfortable swell of emotions. The bitterness, the frustration...and below that, anger. Anger over the little implant in his thyroid, and in hers, that was the cause of their stifled desire.

 


	10. Sam

 

 

 

_“You have to leave me.’’_

_‘’Don’t say you’ll give me your armor…’’_

_‘’You have to leave me…’’_

Her body shuddered as she tried to hold back another sob. She wrapped her arms around herself, her knees tucked to her chest, like a little kid; trying to wring comfort out of the empty abyss that seemed to surround her.               

 _Sam_...                                                                              

Just thinking of his name made her eyes pinch more tightly shut, as she bit her lip, choking back another sob; Sam was _gone_.

It made her want to scream, it made her sick, and it broke her heart.

But, she was somehow supposed to pretend like it was nothing. Like she shouldn’t be upset by it, that there had been nothing that could be done, that she should be glad that he’d died bravely, that his life had been well spent.

John had left him. Let him ‘ _follow_ _orders_ …’

The thought of John ignited another layer to Kelly’s anger, hurt and misery.

It had been the three of them, best friends since day one.

Yet, here she was, mourning Sam’s death, alone.

That’s right…because she and John were only _friends_.

She’d not seen him since they’d gotten back. But she could guess where he was. At least, she could guess _who_ he was with…

It had been something she had tried to ignore, early on. John always inviting Linda to play with them, the few times they’d had a moment to themselves. How he would gaze at her sometimes when she was in a different group, or even when she was in their group. How he would always pick her to be on any team he was head of. How he would worry about her, making comments, that were supposed to be just off hand, but to Kelly began to mean something else.

Especially as they got older, she couldn’t quite ignore it anymore, or brush it aside as nothing…

After their successful exercise against Tango Company, the way Linda had run toward him, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed; how he’d caught her in his arms, twirling her around, for a few seconds, before realizing the others were staring at them.

He’d released her, and she’d quickly hugged a stunned Fhajad, in a lame cover to her actions. He’d stiffly hugged her back, before they broke apart seconds later.

Sam had laughed it all off, of course, but none of them had missed the intensity between John and Linda…but no one knew what to say, so they’d all kept their thoughts to themselves. Fred in particular seemed upset by the whole incident. He’d sat in stony silence, under a pall of nearly palpable depression, all the way back.

Kelly remembered though, with a burst of joy, quickly mingled with sadness…that Sam had kept his arm around her on the flight back to base, as if to assure her, that if she wanted a hug, that he’d be willing to share one with her…that John wasn’t the only one who was willing to give affection.

Kelly was sorry now, that she’d hardly taken Sam up on his silent offers. He’d made them from time to time, when he could sense she was upset, or when she felt jealous.

But she’d stupidly clung to her determination to have John. She deluded herself that because she’d not seen him show any outward, or obvious signs of affection toward Linda, since the slipup after the training exercise, that maybe John didn’t like Linda after all and that it had been a onetime thing…

However she began to notice John sneaking out in the evenings, or at breaks, and tried to follow, but never found where he was going. Until one day, when she’d stumbled upon him and Linda, hiding near the very back of the base, behind some rarely used outbuildings, which housed outdated equipment.

At first she’d been curious, and had just quietly watched, feeling confused, but basically neutral.

He’d snuggled closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, as he dug in his pocket, and pulled out something with a shiny wrapper. Linda let out a happy, surprised sound, smiling at John, who seemed delighted at her reaction. Kelly noticed, as she peered more carefully, that what John held in his hand was a chocolate bar, which he’d obviously stolen from someone.

Her neutrality evaporated, replaced with a burning jealousy. She watched as Linda unwrapped it and broke off a piece, putting it in John’s mouth, where he held it between his teeth, inviting her to bite half of it.

Kelly had stayed long enough to watch the sharing turn to kissing, before fuming away.

Of course he liked Linda. Linda with her perfect, pretty doll-like face, and her unusual, beautiful dark red hair, and green eyes that would put any emerald to shame; of course, what chance had she stood against that? Kelly knew she wasn’t ugly, but she was no match for Linda either, at least in looks. She had hoped, at least deluded herself, that John would be more interested in things less shallow than looks.

Except, he genuinely seemed to _like_ Linda…for more than her looks; a fact Kelly could hardly comprehend. Yes, Linda was a skilled fighter and an excellent hacker, and certainly no one could match her skills at sniping…but she was _boring_. So quiet, almost like she wasn’t there, hardly speaking unless she was asked a direct question; it sort of freaked Kelly out a little.

She’d been sure, John would have wanted someone more outgoing, with a sense of humor, and wit, someone who could always be by his side, like she had tried to be all these years…She’d been sure, he would have wanted someone more like her…

Exhaling a shaky breath, Kelly unfolded her limbs, and lay limply against the hard rack. She stared at the bulkhead, without really seeing it, feeling revulsion at herself for letting jealousy consume her, when all she wanted to think about was Sam.

Sam had been patient. He’d waited until she could no longer lie to herself about John. Waited for her to come to him, and had welcomed her. Kelly had eagerly taken his comfort, and his affection, trying to let it wash away the pain she felt at being nothing more than a friend, or a sister to John.

When she had been so weak, barely surviving augmentation, he had been there, at her bedside, whenever he could. He’d been the first face she’d seen, when she’d managed to pull through, and had woken for the first time…he’d been the first, and only kiss she’d ever had…

Sam had wanted her. Sam had valued her as more than just a useful team member. Sam had wanted her, even though she didn’t look like a doll…and now he was gone.

Kelly blinked, trails of warm wetness running down her cheeks. There would be little time to mourn. She needed to take the time she had, before facing the reality to being alone emotionally, watching from the sidelines, as someone else took the place she had coveted, leaving her with nothing, but regrets and loneliness.

…

He hadn’t spoken since he’d returned. He hadn’t spoken since he came and found her, and he hadn’t spoken since they’d come down here. She hadn’t really expected him to.

The corner of the cargo hold where they were snuggled, was dim, quiet and very chilly. The air smelled faintly, yet unpleasantly of fuel, oil and a little metallic, almost like blood.

John was laying on his stomach, limp and rather despondent, with his head turned away from her. Linda lay cuddled as close to him as she could be, her arm across his back, alternating between rubbing circles against it, and combing her fingers through the short, soft hair at his nape.

He hadn’t cried, not really anyway. There had been wetness on his cheeks when he’d come and got her, but nothing else, no sobbing, no overt distress. She’d not really expected that of him either.

It was too shocking. Too numbing…too unreal.

Linda had never really been close to Sam, other than as both of them being constant fixtures in John’s teams. But his loss was still a huge blow to her. He’d always been there…loyal, reliable, strong, funny…

So it was hard to think, to really understand, that he would never be there again. Two missions, and he was dead. It chilled her to think that this might be the fate they all faced, an early, tragic, yet noble death. She’d already nearly lost John once.

She looked at the back of his head in the gloom. He was lucky. He always had been…maybe he’d make it somehow…all the way to the end…whatever that might be.

But, what if she were the one to die first? Could he handle that? Looking at him now, Linda had her doubts.

After a while John propped himself up, and then rolled over to face her in their makeshift nest of blankets and pillows from their racks. They gazed at each other in silence for a few minutes, John rubbing his thumb lightly against her cheek, before finally speaking.

‘’I have to go check on Kelly. I can only imagine how hard this is on her…and I know she’s pissed, and that she partially blames me…’’

Linda let a few seconds go by before replying, ‘’do you want me to come?’’

The silence spread out again, as John turned it over in his mind, all while continuing to stroke Linda’s soft cheek.

‘’Yes,’’ he decided at last, knowing it was slightly selfish…Kelly probably wouldn’t want Linda there.

They detangled themselves from the bedding, quickly and neatly folding it. Departing the cargo bay, with it tucked under their arms, making for the elevator to return to the upper decks.

…

Their quarters seemed largely uninhabited as they drew closer. The hallways were mostly empty, and things seemed really quiet. It was still fairly early in the evening, so it was likely the sibs were at the gym, or had all sought solitude, and were mourning Sam privately, while they could, before their next assignment.

Just as they reached the barracks, Fred and Maria came down the hall, towels around their necks, and their hair damp from showering. John nodded at them, as they returned the gesture, passing their emotions, their condolences silently. Maria smiled at Linda, before activating the door panel and stepping into the barracks. Fred met Linda’s eyes for a moment, glanced at John, and then gestured that they should go in first. John’s mouth tightened a moment, but he accepted Fred’s sign of respect, following Maria into the dim room. Linda looked up at Fred as she passed, confused, and slightly annoyed by his gesture, sensing from it a faintly sarcastic, bitter vibe. He however showed no further sign of this, as she passed him. The gaze they momentarily shared was one of complete neutrality on his part.

Besides the four of them, the barracks were empty…except of course for Kelly, lying with her back to the door, curled on her side. John moved to Kelly’s rack, Linda watching as she rolled over to look at him, propping herself on one elbow. He made to sit on the edge when Kelly sharply stood up, her posture rigid.

John studied her face, she looked gaunt almost like she was ill; her eyes were red from crying, and her chalky cheeks were streaked with drying salt from her tears. Her light brown hair, just barely regrown, due to her slow recovery, was rumpled and stood in irregular tufts.

‘ _’How could you…?’’_ she whispered hoarsely, taking a step closer to John, ‘’how could you just leave him..!’’

‘’Kelly…his suit was breached…you know, you saw it…there was nothing we could do…’’ came John’s level reply.

‘’Oh for fuck sakes!’’ She yelled, ‘’I don’t want to hear what I already know! It doesn’t make it better, it doesn’t change anything! I just want….I want you to be sorry…I want you to _feel_ …to feel…how _I_ feel; to understand…what Sam meant to _me_..!’’

“Kelly, I’m so sorry…I…’’ began Linda, in her quiet voice, taking a step forward, making to put an arm around the taller girl.

As soon as Linda had her arm extended and had taken another step, something in Kelly snapped. All the years of resentment, mixed with her grief, her loneliness, all came rushing up. She didn’t need Linda to speak for John or to make his excuses for him. She spun on her heel, lunging at Linda shoving her back, making her stumble slightly as she recovered from the sudden assault, shock written across her perfect eggshell face; a face she wanted to smash.

Before anyone could do anything, Kelly lunged forward again, grabbing Linda and shoving her as hard as she could, watching in twisted delight as she flew backwards, and crashed against the side of one of the racks with a resounding clang and thud.

Kelly felt herself moving forward, fists balled, heart pounding, breath ragged in her throat, she stood over Linda, who was weakly pushing herself up on her hands, the side of her face shining with scarlet blood. Kelly raised her fist, when a hand clamped over her bicep, and yanked her around.

She looked into John’s face, his features like graven marble, bloodless and stony. ‘’Stand down!’’ He growled dangerously, shaking Kelly slightly, ‘’Do you hear me Spartan? Stand down!!’’

Kelly paused a moment, then with another burst of rage and a snarl at being thwarted, she slammed her fists against John’s chest, hating that her vision was blurry with tears, hating that John didn’t hit her back, didn’t yell, didn’t do anything but firmly and calmly deflect most of her blows. By the twentieth hit or so, she felt the sudden, insane rush of rage, and adrenaline start to fade, as quickly as it had come…her lower lip trembled as she collapsed against John, sobbing, her fists clutching the fabric of his shirt. John looked at the top of her head, slowly putting his arms around her, stroking her hair.

He glanced over at Fred, giving a small nod, indicating that he should tend to Linda, at least for now. Maria stepping forward to help him get Linda to her feet.

…

Fred leaned against the medical table, arms folded across his chest, watching as the medical tech inspected Linda’s wound.

She was lying on her side, with her eyes closed, and a pinched expression on her face from the headache she’d told the tech she was having. After a quick MRI though, the tech ruled out anything more serious than a mild concision, and had given her an injection for the pain, which it seemed had not taken effect yet.

The tech dabbed at the drying blood, slowly and thoroughly cleaning it, at last locating the source. The wound was a three inch gash running from the outer edge of Linda’s eyebrow, across her temple, to the highest point of her cheekbone, in front of her ear.

When the wound was completely assessed and cleaned, the tech pressed it shut, and secured it with a dissolving, antibacterial medical gel, similar to Biofoam, but for cuts, and surface wounds. This complete, he checked her vitals one last time, had her track his finger with her eyes, and satisfied with her responses, gave her another injection for pain, and released her to Fred’s care.

Fred helped her off the table, enjoying the feeling of being of use to Linda, of being needed, despite the circumstances, which he did not like at all.

Linda allowed herself to be led, leaning her weight against Fred. She still felt a little dizzy, and her head was still throbbing dully. She knew, on reflection, that she probably should not have tried to comfort Kelly, she should instead have pretended to not even be there, and stayed out of the way. Well, it was too late for that now.

When they got back to barracks, most of the sibs were back, and getting ready to sleep. Fred removed his arm from around her shoulders before anyone noticed.

Linda looked around, noting Kelly was once again curled up on her rack, covered in her blanket, and broadcasting a vibe that said ‘piss off.’

John was nowhere to be seen.

…

‘’I’m sorry…’’

Linda opened her eyes, aware of his presence before he spoke, his voice less than a whisper; a cool breath on her cheek.

She exhaled, feeling John’s hand stroke against her abdomen, slowly sliding up, but then pausing before he reached her breasts.

‘’For what..?’’ Linda breathed back, as she subtly shifted herself closer to his body, while he shifted his position, and she felt his lips graze the still tender cut over her temple. ‘’I shouldn’t have asked you to come…’’ was his murmured reply.

‘’It’s alright…she was upset…it was stupid for me to try and comfort her…’’

John’s lips brushed the cut again, before moving to her ear, ‘’we can’t do this anymore Linda. We have to forget…we have to…for the team…we…can’t…we’re soldiers…’’

 _As if that means anything…haven’t you come across the Marines, making out and fucking where they think no one’s looking..? Lame excuse John!_ Thought Linda with annoyance.

_But…we aren’t Marines. We’re Spartans. Spartans that ‘don’t have feelings…or desires…’_

She bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut; she knew he didn’t _really_ mean it, not completely…but she still wanted to slap him, she wanted to scream at him…she wanted to cry…and she might have, if not for his pained, broken tone as he spoke; he didn’t want to submit to his words any more than she did; but instead of any of those reaction’s, she slipped deeper into the cold place, that world of detachment…

‘’I know…’’ she breathed,

‘’I’m sorry…’’ his lips brushed against her ear, then pressed in a cool, feather-like kiss.

‘’I know…’’ she said again, her voice a whisper of ice.

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter challenging to write, and even now, I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with it. It also ended up being WAY longer than I planned!!! 
> 
> I loved Forward Unto Dawn, but I did have several issues with it. There were small errors, and exceptions they made, for it all to work, which were OK and could be overlooked, such as John being referred to as Master Chief, which he certainly was not at that point.  
> The thing that bothered me the most, was the conspicuous absence of Linda! She ought to have been there, as Blue Team at that point consisted of her, Fred, Kelly and John, as Sam had been killed a little while before.  
> Also, what were they doing? I mean, why was John alone??? If they'd ALL been there, things would have gone smoother. Yes, I know, it was necessary to the plot for Lasky's character to develop etc, but still...I found it odd.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this isn't too much of a retell of the movie; my intention was to have my take on what John was thinking, and what was going on in the background, with the movie plot more as a backdrop.
> 
> I'm not sure I succeeded, but, here it is anyway!

 

 

The war had utterly changed. No one had anticipated this…certainly not in the decidedly… _genocidal_ form it had taken; at least not beyond anything more than a cerebral activity, from some safe armchair, or standing confidently in some university lecture hall.

 No, it had been nothing more than supposition; the likelihood of coming across aliens. Yet, deep down, anyone who thought of such things had known it was inevitable. But the picture they had painted for themselves, upon this eventual meeting, was of course, as is the human want, one of utter hubris. A picture of meek, submissive beings, who were either willing to work in peace, or, and it basically amounted to the same thing, be the subjects of humans and humanity.

No, no one had anticipated things being the other way around; or how in mere months, humanity could have found itself looking down the barrel of possible oblivion, against an enemy that knew no mercy, could not be reasoned with, and would seemingly not be satisfied until all humans were obliterated.

…

He knew, as they approached, it was already too late. He’d never admit this out loud or even fully to himself, but the fact still remained.

He thought of the vids, and reports he’d seen about Harvest; in some ways, this was worse, since it was happening right in front of him, it was visceral and shockingly real. Circinus IV was awash in fire; the orange, red and yellow making jagged wounds across its surface, from John’s vantage point in the Pelican, as they made their decent into hell.

A breathlessness momentarily gripped at his resolve, tearing at his focus; words like ‘hopeless’, ‘futile’, and ‘lost cause’ floated unbidden through his mind, as they descended lower, and the extent of the attack assaulted his senses.

Indeed, this force, this Covenant of races they now seemed to be in the struggle for their lives against, brought him thoughts, and comparisons, of trying to fight a raging, all consuming forest fire, wild, and unquenchable, with nothing more than a spray bottle.

His humanity, his weakness, his _frailty_ as a human, washed over him, humbling and terrifying; already, he sometimes forgot, that Spartan’s were, after all, only humans…they could die, they could be killed…they were just as vulnerable to this alien threat…

The grimace of pain, of irony, on Sam’s face, flashed briefly through his mind…

John closed his eyes, willing his mind to come back under his control, drawing on all his training, his powers of self-discipline; this was when it counted most, that though human, he try and put all his energy into being _more_ than that. This, though not by choice, was what he had been made for, and now, it was all he knew, and now, is when it counted.

…

Once on the ground, it became very clear, that his assumption was true. They’d lost the battle for this world…they were too late…not that it likely mattered; Spartan’s could usually win on the ground, but not when those ground troops were backed by such superior airborne firepower.

John carefully stepped over the body of an ODST, her eyes were wide, and ghostly reflected the flames of a nearby fire, enveloping what might once have been a tree. His mouth tightening, as once more he tried to force away his nagging feeling of frailty, of fear…

Carefully picking his way over the litter of bodies, John slipped into the darkness of the woods. He’d ordered the rest of his team to search for survivors and locate or help any remaining ODST units. The comms were a mess, fragmented, and disjointed, static laden messages, orders, and questions became an ambient hum in his ear, as he made his way toward the Academy.

He’d gone about another hundred yards, when, with a particularly loud burst of static, a frantic message filled his helmet; the voice sounded young, and terrified… _’’Mayday; mayday, mayday, this is Cadet Thomas Lasky; I repeat, mayday, mayday! There’s been an attack on Corbulo Academy! Excessive casualties…I repeat, excessive casualties…’’_

John looked down into the face of another ODST; blood sluggishly dripping from the corner of his mouth and from a deep, ugly gash across his forehead, soaking, and staining his blond hair; as he listened to the frantic plea for help.

This is what the student who’d sent the message was training to be. Would it be crueler to let him die now? Or to save him…or attempt to anyway…and let him serve, and end up like this, or any number of others he’d stepped over tonight; to die on some other devastated planet…broken, bloody and defeated…

John checked the positon of Kelly, Linda and Fred on his HUD; he was the closest, he’d go alone. Maybe they’d be dead by the time he got there. He marveled at his cynicism, putting it down to lingering bitterness over Sam. Giving himself a mental shake, John focused his mind on the task at hand, and put in check any wayward, useless feelings, or musing; this was not the time to think, or philosophise; it was his duty to do all that he could, to get to, and rescue those students, no matter what.

Linda’s cool voice crackled in his ear, ‘’Sir, I’m not finding any survivors…’’

He wasn’t surprised, but it was still a little gutting, that of all the troops, and personnel, that no one, except maybe Cadet Lasky, and those who may be with him, were alive.

‘’Command is requesting we leave…’’ stated Kelly’s brisker tone,

‘’Fred?’’ murmured John, knowing what he’d hear; there was a pause of a second or so, before Fred replied, ‘’No survivors here either, Sir,’’

John paused a moment, ‘’keep looking, but head north, for the evac and regroup. I’m going to the Academy; I picked up a distress signal. I’ll meet up with you soon; Kelly, inform Command, Chief out,’’

...

Slipping carefully from the woods, John got his first look at the devastation, and the ruin that had been inflicted upon the Academy; everywhere, the dead littered the ground, slumped and broken, twisted and bloody, mixed in with the piles of rubble and debris.

Everything seemed quiet, _too_ quiet. Tense, and alert, he made his way into the building, straining his sensitive hearing for the slightest sign of danger, as well as for any life.

Among the dull thuds, sharp, snapping crackles of broken wiring, distant drips, and the other ambient noises common to landscapes of destruction, he thought picked out a rhythmic hammering sound, like metal slamming into metal, and just over that, voices; _human_ voices, urging, encouraging…

However, they stopped abruptly as a resounding banging, something huge, hammering on metal, eclipsed them. John knew immediately, the direction he needed to go, but was deeply concerned at the intensity of the banging sound; clearly not caused by humans…feeling more alarmed when everything went silent again.

He set off, quickly, but carefully up the dark, debris strewn hall.

After a few minutes of cautious stalking, up halls, and around corners; careful to avoid the hundreds of dead, as well as attack, he found both the source of the noise, and his quarry.

John moved forward into the dim room, slowly drawing his knife; the beast, the Elite, as humans called them, was distracted, apparently by both the prospect of slaughtering more humans, in this case, the cowering cadets, and by the gurgle of its own laughter, which worked to John’s advantage, covering any faint sound, or creak he made, as he stepped the last few paces into position, raising his arm, mirroring the actions of the creature.

He thrust his knife into the alien, quickly and deeply, his heart pounding; relieved as it made a choking growl, and crumpled forward, dead.

John flicked on the lights on his helmet, looking down at the four cadets and said:

‘’We don’t have much time; let’s go.’’ He supposed, but only vaguely, and so quickly he was hardly even aware he’d thought it, that it was sort of an abrupt thing to say, but it was direct, and time was certainly of the essence.

Apparently though, the cadet’s found it pretty abrupt; as they stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, and half open mouths. Though, he couldn’t be sure if this was from the his words, the fact they’d nearly been killed by a ten foot tall alien, or just the sight of him; nevertheless, they looked stunned.

They gazed at each other for a few seconds, well, he did, they only saw what to them, was likely little better than the Elite. Gradually, they seemed to thaw, at least a little, seeming to realize he wasn’t going to hurt, them, and that he really was here to rescue them.

One of the girls drifted over to the body of a third boy, as another burst of static crackled in his ear, he turned away, trying to pick out anything of use. Giving up, he murmured instead,

‘’Kelly, inform command I have four survivors; take the team north; rendezvous at evac Alpha for Pelican extraction. We’ll meet you there; Chief out,’’

‘’Yes sir,’’ came her reply, her tone seemed tinged with both annoyance and anxiety, ‘’shouldn’t we… come to your position?’’ she asked, her voice hesitant, as though hating to question him, while refusing to just leave him…

He could understand.

He didn’t reply. That would be clear enough. He wouldn’t risk them coming all the way back here, even Kelly, who, if she ran, could probably be here in a relatively short time, but not short enough. Besides, they might find some other survivors…but, he doubted it.

Cadet Lasky’s voice brought him back to the situation at hand:

‘’How did you find us?’’

‘’The distress beacon,’’

‘’Why did you come for us?’’ Chimed in Cadet Sullivan, who, John felt, as he’d quickly assessed the them, seemed most likely in the group, to be prone to panic, and therefore might be a liability.

‘’You’re the only survivors…’’

‘’In the School?’’ Sullivan asked, his voice, breaking slightly, a mix of horror and desperation.

“On the planet,’’ John replied stiffly; it was likely true.

He watched the grim comprehension spread across their features; but they had no time to think about it.

‘’We’ve got 15 minutes to get to the evac point…armour up,’’ John growled, only half hearing Sullivan’s explanations about the equipment and weapons being locked up, as he easily broke and removed the heavy metal mesh, earning himself more stunned looks.

He reflected as he watched them suit up, that they were, except for the one girl, Cadet Orenski, who may have been seventeen or so, all about his age. But as he looked at them, he could hardly believe it; he felt _ages_ older than them. It was sort of eerie; this would have been him, and the sibs, without augmentation…

 _Normal_ teens; maybe a little taller, maybe smarter and more genetically perfect…but still…

He watched as Cadet Lasky helped Cadet Silva, checking her armour, making sure she had ammunition…yet there was _more_ to his actions than that.

Uncomfortable feelings and thoughts involving Linda momentarily washed across his mind; true to their word, nothing but strict professionalism and efficiency had happened between them since the night of the fight between her and Kelly, after Sam’s death; and he resented it.

How hardened, how detached…how…mechanical…

Compared to _this_ , this tenderness, this normality…

John blinked, then tightened his grip on his rifle; they had to go, he could think, and ponder later…either there would be time, or there wouldn’t.

…

At last, after a nearly intolerable amount of time, at least to John’s mind, a mind that was still indefinably uneasy at its margins; they moved into a loose formation, with him taking point, and headed into the hall, and into what would likely be inevitably be danger.

As expected, they’d gone hardly a hundred yards, when John sharply held up his fist, signaling them to stop, feeling mildly relieved, when none of them ran into him; good, they were at least paying some attention, and weren’t completely disoriented by fear. Less comforting, was what sounded like movement outside; which judging by the dead humans he’d encountered, was likely being made by the enemy.

Ordering them to stay put, no matter what, he went to scout outside, and try and assuage his nagging worry, and to find them the best route, the best means of escape; it was unlikely, that without some kind of transport they’d ever make it on time to the evac point.

Completing a quick recon, he found things still eerily quiet outside, with little to no sign of the enemy, which unsettled him far more, than if he’d been shot at. His unease deepening, he returned to the cadets, finding them where he’d left them, obediently waiting. They looked up at him, as he appeared out of the gloom, portraying rather accurately the old earth expression, of being like ‘deer in headlights.’

‘’Who’s the best shot here?’’ he asked, hoping beyond hope that they’d had enough training to be able to hit a target while moving; them, or it.

As he’d anticipated, Cadet Sullivan made a stupid, half joking remark: ‘’you, I’m guessing..?’’

John ignored him, looking expectantly at the other three, Lasky, finally saying, ‘’Chyler is,’’

‘’I am good…’’ she offered, while not really looking convincing with her slightly crooked helmet, and tear-stained cheeks.

‘’I am too, ‘’ confirmed Orenski, with more conviction in her voice, her face settling into an expression of greater focus, and calm than she’d shown back in the weapons locker.

It didn’t matter, they were what he had to work with, so, he had to make it work, and he would.

‘’Cadet Lasky, can you drive a Warthog?’’

‘’Y-yeah…I guess…’’

‘’Good…’’

John was unconvinced, but again, he’d have to make it work.

Taking point once more, and organizing them into a formation, they set off, out of the relative, to that point anyway, safety of the school, for the grounds, the ‘Hog, and hopefully, their escape to safety.

Almost immediately though, things began to fall apart; the nagging worry, the feeling that there was a threat, quickly showed itself, in the form of Jackal snipers.

There was no time to berate himself for his careless recon, he could only react, and try and deal with the situation they now faced.

Yet, he couldn’t help but question himself, for undertaking this alone…

What he wouldn’t have given for Linda’s skills right now.

Amazingly, the cadets weren’t quite as helpless as he’d feared; they managed to defend themselves, and help Sullivan, who’d been shot in the leg; as well as Lasky getting to the Warthog, and getting it started in time.

Neutralizing the last of the Jackal threat, at least for the moment, and with everyone loaded up, John gripped the controls for the chain gun, as the ‘Hog lurched forward. Well…Lasky had answered hesitantly…about being able to ‘drive a Warthog…’

It would be a rough ride; as long as they didn’t crash, who cared? Bad driving was the very least of their worries.

‘’Kelly, track our position for evac’’ John said, as they swung into the woods, fishtailing slightly, the jouncing making Sullivan cry out in pain, as it agitated his wound.

‘’I’m on it sir,’’ came her cold reply…her voice frostier even than Linda often sounded on missions.

Once again John had no time to reply, or to dwell on it, as a barrage of needler rounds clattered against the Warthog.

Again, to the credit of the Cadets, they remained fairly calm, or at least remained focused, and were able to follow, and respond to orders. Both Orenski and Silva were, as they stated, good shots, and after a few barked orders about using controlled bursts, managed to hit most of their targets.

Lasky managed to keep the Warthog on the road, and in an upright position; turning and taking direction as John gave it.

John was starting to feel marginally less tense, when no further shots were pelting them from out of the dark; when suddenly, there was a loud ‘ _whump’_ and Lasky slammed on the breaks, jolting them all, and making Sully cry out in renewed pain.

They’d hit a Jackal; which was absolutely no reason to stop in John’s mind, quite the contrary; worse, the ‘Hog seemed to have reached its limit, and was refusing to start…

Sighing inwardly, and biting back his frustration, he decided to tend to Sullivan, while they had the chance, then he’d see if he could start up the Warthog again; but the whining, wheeze it was making, as Lasky struggled with it, was not encouraging, and John knew, not very deep down, that they would be on foot from here on out. The tendrils of fear snaked around the perimeter of his thoughts again, at the prospect.

John lifted the moaning Sullivan from the back of the Warthog. He settled him on the ground, and with Orenski giving encouragement, and comfort, he carefully inserted the tip of the Biofoam canister into the wound.

“This should help you walk,’’

Sullivan just moaned through gritted teeth.

That was when things took a turn, once again, for the worst.

The hair on the back of John’s neck prickled, as he heard her ragged exhale…

Her quiet voice, mingled with pain, and fear, quavered into the night…’’Tom…?’’

John remained stiff, willing it to not be the case…

‘’Tom…’’ she said again, as he continued to struggle with starting the Warthog.

John heard him pause, then, the inevitable: “Chief! Chief, Chyler’s been hit!’’ John let his breath out in a resigned, single exhale. Damn it.

He listened to her weak pain filled whimpers turn to actual tears. Standing, he moved to the side of the ‘Hog, quickly assessing her wound.

The crystal fragment was deeply lodged in her abdomen, and he knew, he couldn’t save her. He’d failed.

‘’I’m out of Biofoam. We have to get her to the Pelican,’’ was all he could say, all the hope he could give…when, it was hopeless.

Tom hurried to help her out of the Warthog, while April helped Sully to his feet.

There was a loud crash, then another, and another; more distantly, the sound of many feet retreating from them. An eerie green glow began to be visible through the trees, accompanied by a low growling, which reverberated through the earth.

‘’Why are they retreating? Why would they do that?’’ Asked Orenski, a tinge of panic rising in her voice.

John’s heart sank…it was a Hunter pair…

‘’We’re being hunted; keep moving north; you’ll see my team; run as fast as you can, don’t stop for anything, including me,’’

They all looked at him for a moment, panic in their eyes, apparently at the prospect of possibly having to go on alone.

Before they could say anything though, he was off; he had to put as much distance between the Hunter and them as possible, as soon as possible. He’d never encountered one before. All the knowledge he had going in, was what he’d seen, and studied, from the few pictures, and sketchy reports; this enemy was a largely unknown entity.

Growling and crashing, and outlined in a ghostly green glow, from its massive plasma weapon, John quickly assessed his target.

The fear that had been nagging him since they’d been deployed, reached its highest level. It was _massive_. He regretted now, more than at any point this night, being alone; memories of that old vid, Deja had shown them, of the moose and the wolves came strongly to mind. He needed his pack. Yet, he would have to do this without them.

Stilling his mind, and gathering his resolve, he made his move, firing, aiming for what seemed to be the weaker waist area of the beast, the part with the least protection. Many of his shots pinged harmlessly off its armor and shield, and his ammo count was dwindling at an alarmingly fast rate. He only had one clip left.

His only advantage was speed. The Hunter was slow and lumbering, it also seemed unable to focus on a target that darted about too much, rather it seemed happier to blunder and crash through the woods, finding John and irritant it could not quite get its sights on; firing several rounds of boiling plasma, and doing nothing more than ignite the surrounding woods.

Racing round behind it, John emptied his last rounds into the exposed lower back, feeling a surge of triumph as the beast crumpled forwards, spraying it’s orange blood, worm-like things peeling away, and writhing, as it died.

Standing over it for a moment, and breathing hard, John calmed himself, before racing back to the cadets.

…

Linda listened to Kelly arguing with John over the comm. She ought to know by now, that once he took it into his head to do something there was no stopping him. She should appreciate too, the bitterness, the pain, of leaving someone behind…and his unwillingness to do so now.

As for herself, Linda supposed she ought to be more worried, or pestering John, but she saw no point. Yes, she was concerned, but, how hard could it be to rescue a few scared kids?

Wait… _kids_ …? She smiled to herself. Yes, because she and the rest of Blue Team were _so_ much older than them! They were _all_ kids.

It might have been foolish to go alone, she supposed, but it was useless to hound him, or chide him now, it would only be a distraction, and add more stress.

…

As he approached, he knew that the inevitable had happened. The girl, Cadet Silva, had died from her injuries. She’d not had a chance, even if he’d had enough Biofoam, taking a needler to the abdomen wasn’t something likely survived.

He could hear Cadet Lasky crying, murmuring her name, through his quiet sobs, _‘’Chyler…’’_

For a moment, John envied him; he wished he’d been able to be so transparent, so emotionally raw when Sam had died. On the other hand, he felt closer, to Cadet Lasky, not that he’d ever know that, or why; bonded to him, by their losses.

Quickly collecting himself John pushed all other thoughts from his mind. They were still in danger, and things were taking much longer than was safe, or than he’d expected. Yet, how could he have thought things would have, or could have gone to plan? These were untrained, untried, raw kids, not Spartans, or even Marines.

 John moved forward, intruding on the grief, as he quietly knelt at Lasky’s side. He gazed at the girl, Chyler’s face. Already, the color was gone from her cheeks, even her lips were becoming pale and chalky looking.

He was glad, in a cowardly way, that he’d not had to see Sam die…had to watch the life ebb from his body, the color drain from his face…

John swallowed hard, ‘’I’m sorry,’’ he murmured…

“I need your ammo Cadets, it took everything I had, to bring that thing down…’’ John added, aware once more of his abruptness; half hating how robotic it made him seem…especially with Chyler being dead only seconds.

He was concerned to learn that they had no ammo, except for the TTR’s. Rapidly trying to think what to do, when he knew there was a second Hunter out there; Lasky handed him a grenade, looking at him with empty eyes…

‘’Thanks…’’ he said quietly…

There was a loud cracking, crashing sound, of trees being snapped over, and out of the way of some huge presence; it was the second one. The moment of grief, was broken, they were out of time, and they had to move.

He led them to a small overhang; they jumped down, sheltering in its meager protection. While he thought of the best way to get the last three Cadets to safety; he felt like a failure for losing Silva, even though, he’d sort of given up the possibility of everyone making it out of things…even though he always tried. And along with all that, somehow destroy the Hunter with only one grenade; there had to be a way…there was _always_ a way.

‘’Kelly-’’

‘’We need to leave-’’ she said stonily into his ear.

“Negative, I need more time; we can’t make it to the rendezvous. You have to hold the Pelican.’’

‘’John, you’re already over the time, it’s been eighteen minutes…we have to go, they’re going to glass the planet; four more won’t matter…maybe it’ll be kinder for them to die with their friends…’’

John could not believe what he was hearing; especially after her devastation over losing Sam. Wouldn’t she understand why he needed to save them? Or, what that the problem? She wished she’d died along with Sam? But with no time to think about this further, or voice any of it to her, John instead snapped,

‘’ I won’t leave them!’’

Once again her voice replied coldly, ‘’Yes, sir,’’

‘’Chief out,’’ muttered John. His mind was made up; there was only one option left. ‘’I’ll engage, you get to the Pelican as fast as you can,’’

There was a pause of several seconds, none of the cadets moved; John couldn’t wait any longer, he leaned forward, about to make his move, when Lasky put his hand out, making him pause again, as he said, ‘’no sir; I’ll be the decoy,’’

John was a little surprised, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected…he’d have done the same thing, in Lasky’s position.

Orenski was against it, half begging, half admonishing him to stay put.

‘’You sweep in from behind,’’ continued Lasky, stuffing Silva’s dog tags into the front of his armor.

‘’Cadet…’’ began John, hating to stall any longer, while at the same time, needing to be sure, needing _Lasky_ to be sure…giving him the option to survive…

But, he already knew his mind was made up. Nothing he, Orenski or Sullivan said would make any difference; and before any of them could say or do anything else, he had sprinted off.

Well, there was nothing for it, but to stick to Lasky’s plan. John launched himself into action, as the Hunter stomped closer; watched as it fired its first shot, feeling momentarily relieved when Lasky managed to avoid it, tumbling to the ground, but rising moments later, to run another pass.

John activated the grenade, and rushed forward. It wasn’t the best thought out plan, more of a reaction, in a bid to finish the beast, and get them all out of the situation; this was emphasised, as that heavy shield came crashing into his side, hurling him backwards. The air was momentarily crushed from his lungs, and he tasted blood. Thankfully, this Hunter was more interested in moving prey, as Lasky continued his distracting actions, allowing John to force some breath back into his body, as he ignored the burning pain lancing through his side.

The sun was almost up, he noted as he got into a crouching position, to make his second run at the beast. The gloom in the forest was lessening, and somehow, with it, came a faint sense of increased hope.

The creature was distracted a moment longer, long enough for his second attempt at rushing it to work. He leapt, landing catlike on its massive shield, grateful not have to endure another blow from it…at least not yet, not if things went to plan.

It seemed to notice he was on it, shaking itself subtly, like a horse with a fly on its back, but John held fast, and maneuvered over its shoulder, holding tightly to one of the enormous spines protruding from its armor, as he locked his boots against the mental on its waist. He raised the grenade, planting it with a punch, sinking it as deeply into the strange orange mass of worms as he could, in the exposed part of the Hunters back.

Then, with jarring pain to his ribs, he leapt back, summersaulting, and landing crouched on his feet. The grenade went off, obliterating the massive creature; John let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, as he rose to his feet, crushing one of the surviving worms; it burst with a satisfying squelch.

Orenski and Sullivan rushed out from under the overhang, calling Lasky’s name; John, for a cowardly moment, didn’t want to know if he’d made it or not…

But, after he’d paused to pick up a piece of the Hunter’s armor, there was no more seconds he could delay, they had to leave, weather it was with three or two…

A swell of relief filled John’s chest, as Lasky coughed, and opened his eyes; he’d made it. He hadn’t failed him, too.

‘’Bring it down Kelly,’’ murmured John, with a tone that was at once tired, and stoic, as he watched Orenski and Sullivan help Lasky to his feet, all jogging out into the field. John had never been more grateful to hear the thrum of a Pelican’s engines, and he was sure the cadet’s felt the same.

‘’We have three survivors,’’ he informed a kneeling Kelly.

She looked up at him, ‘’I’ll alert Command,’’

‘’Let’s go,’’

With mixed relief and guilt, John watched the cadets run aboard the Pelican, as he followed. The ordeal was over, for now.

Though mentally, and emotionally, certainly for the cadets, it was anything but over.

…

In her mind, Linda withdrew her assertion of them _all_ being ‘kids.’ The teens sitting across from them were certainly in that category, she and the sibs, were not, even though they were approximately the same age.

Their faces were haunted and bluntly showed shock, and a strain to comprehend. Their world had been upended. No one had really guessed this was going to happen, and for them, Linda supposed, having never seen, or experience war before, having it rain out of the sky on you, in the form of an alien, rather than a human, might be hard to swallow.

It had been a little shocking for Blue Team too, she supposed, on their first mission encountering the aliens…when they too, had been expecting to neutralize Insurrectionists, only to end up fighting _with_ them.

Well, in a warped way, that mission had been a success, none of the insurrectionists had survived the conflict, and Blue Team had only just managed to escape in once piece.

The second engagement, with the Covenant, they’d lost Sam. So, in that there was a bond between them; the bond of death, and of loss. These other teens, who had watched their friends die, and had to live with the knowledge that they were the only survivors of a planet-wide massacre.

…

John watched Cadet Lasky from the corner of his eye; something, some faint intuition told him, that the risk, the choice to rescue these kids, had been the right one. John could never know though, how deeply that choice would impact Lasky; how decades later, that gratitude, that respect, would come back to support him, when he needed it.

Taking the fragment of Hunter armor, he held it out to Lasky, who took it, with a slightly questioning look on his weary face, before turning it over in his hands, bending his head to study it.

‘’Well done, soldier,’’ intoned John, making Lasky raise his head, to gaze at him once more; for a moment, John was tempted to at least depolarize his visor, to truly convey his sentiment, his respect for this, now fellow soldier; but, somehow, anonymity seemed best, despite the others baring their faces. Spartan II was still pretty classified after all.

…

It was worse than he’d thought; there’d been no time, when it happened, or immediately after, to really feel it, let alone think about how bad it might be. But now, it was clear how extensive the damage was. John raised his arm, wincing; broken ribs, no doubt about it.

‘’What’s that from? Wait, let me guess, when you tried to rescues those kids, one of them kicked you?’’

John turned his head, taking in Linda, leaning against the doorframe. His mouth twisted into a half smile, half grimace. ‘’Ha ha,’’ he muttered, ‘’I suppose I should feel privileged, as likely the only recipient of your humor…’’

“Yes, I suppose you should, it’ll be our secret,’’ She said, unfolding her arms, and moving slowly into the room, circling John.

It was an ugly bruise; almost black, at its darkest, with every shade and tone of purple, fading to an angry red at its margins. She shook her head, making another circuit around him, her interest wandering from the bruise, to his toned and muscular torso, chest and arms.

John’s smile increased, as he quickly realized what she was doing. ‘’Like what you see then?’’ he teased quietly, as Linda’s eyes shifted from his body to his face. ‘’No, that’s not allowed, we’re _soldiers_ , remember?’’ She half teased, half mocked.

The smile vanished from his lips. He reached out, catching her arm, pulling her close, ‘’Linda…’’

She looked away, ‘’It’s alright. I shouldn’t have said that…I’m sorry…’’

Her eyes closed, and she sighed, as his lips pressed to her forehead. John moved to wrap his arm around her, when her hand came up as a barrier between their chests, and she gently pushed herself away from him.

Their eyes met for a moment, before Linda shrugged and looked down, ‘ _’rules_ , John…’’ she whispered.

John clenched his fists, feeling a bubble of anger rising in his chest at her actions and her words…but, before it had hardly formed; it popped, replaced by the familiar bitterness…the frustration.

He’d put this barrier up. Not her. He had only himself be angry with, for their distance.

‘’I’ll get some bandages,’’ Linda said, walking quietly from the room, leaving John to stew in his thoughts.

Sitting on the bench, thoughts of Cadet Lasky and Cadet Silva assaulted him. The tender concern he’d shown her, his grief at her death…

Ugly images swirled through his mind, like a black fog…images of him, crying over _Linda’s_ cold, bloodless form; her body stiff and lifeless, the light gone from her jewel-like eyes. The constant assurance, and source of strength she gave him; gone from his side…taken to a place he could not follow.

Clenching his teeth, he tried to force the images, the thoughts away…but without complete success. The time they had together might be for years more, or might end on their next mission…

John blinked, and quickly wiped the trace of moisture from his eyes.

His gaze snapped up as Linda re-entered the dim room, supplies in hand. She squatted down in front of him, encouraging him to lift his arms; but this was too painful, on his injured side, so he just held them away from his body, so she could work.

He hissed softly as she first spread a topical anesthetic over the darkest bruises; it stung, and was painfully cold, before mellowing, and deadening the pounding ache to a more tolerable level.

John sighed involuntarily, in relief and fatigue. He let his eyes close, as Linda worked, wrapping the bandage snuggly around him, over the worst of the bruises, where the ribs were at the very least, cracked.

‘’Because you were so _good_ …’’ whispered Linda, in a slightly teasing tone, her voice making his eyes come open again, as he looked down into her upturned face, ‘’ I have one other thing, guaranteed to make you heal up faster…’’

John looked at her quizzically, as her reddish lips pulled into a smile, ‘’oh, don’t worry, I’m sure you’re not too tough to say no to a ‘kiss to make it better.’’’

Before John could say or do anything, she pressed her lips against the stretchy white bandage; then rising in one fluid motion, she gave a quick peck to the tip of his nose.

Still stunned, John watched her turn on her heel and walk from the room, her voice floating back to him, as her footsteps retreated; ‘’you better hurry up, Command is waiting to grill us, and give us our next assignment…’’

Shaking his head, John smiled; the icy fear thawing a little, as a ray of hope pierced the bleakness, and gloom that had settled over him…

One day…

Maybe one day, things would be different…a time where they could somehow go back to how things had been; the way he still craved for them to be…

 But for now, he would share what he could with Linda, and enjoy, and cherish the time they did have…always hoping, looking forward, unto dawn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and I do/did like Michael Sullivan, even if it seemed I was mean to him here! :)  
> I just thought, that had I been in a position where I had to deal with him in those circumstances, I may have found his behavior slightly annoying...so I decided John would too.


	12. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and feels alert! 
> 
> I blame the contents of this chapter...or at least the inspiration for it, on the brief dream in The Flood, and on the story in Halo Evolutions called, Palace Hotel. 
> 
> Anyway, this is what grew from those, and my own imaginings.

 

 

 

 

 

…Five years later…

 

Dreams and dreaming: it can be a scary place, a happy place, a place where the impossible is possible, and a place of memories. A world of half fantasy, half reality; a place where the two blend in such a way that it is hard to tell sometimes, which is which. Is it a fantasy version of reality or a memory? Or is it reality, embellished, and bleeding into fantasy?

…

 _He’d never say so, never admit it out loud, but the fact was that he was anxious. It was ridiculous. He was secretly furious at himself for being scared. It wasn’t like he’d never been to school before. Or maybe that was the problem…he_ had _been to school before…he knew what it was like._

_John rolled over in his bed, pulling the blankets more tightly around him, before slipping beneath them entirely. In the dark, muffled, somewhat stuffy world under the covers, he let his thoughts drift._

_Preschool hadn’t been too bad, from what he remembered. He’d been about the same size as the other kids, and they’d not resented him too much for being stronger, and smarter than them. In fact, it had earned him friends…or at least admirers. That had been nice…while it had lasted._

_But, last year, in Kindergarten, things had changed for the worse. At first he’d been excited, but by the end of the first week, he’d hated it._

_Of course, he told no one, and did not complain. It wasn’t like he was being hurt, or that anything serious was happening…_

_No, rather he was being ignored._

_It became obvious, from almost the first morning that he was different from the others. He was bored, and restless, and no task the teacher set kept him occupied long. He was scolded and chided for being too rough in sports, or any physical activity; yet, how could he help it? There was nothing he could do about being four or five inches taller than everyone else in his class._

_Soon, the other children viewed him with mixed fear and resentment._

_Sometimes they’d play with him, but would often get hurt, and complain to the teachers, getting him in more trouble. Or, they’d get angry at him winning basically every game; or frustrated when he wanted to play games they didn’t understand, like chess._

_So, it had been a lonely, rather miserable year. Therefore, he was not looking forward to Grade 1; since why would things be any different, or better?_

_He knew his parents weren’t stupid, and even though he’d said nothing of what went on, that either they’d picked up on his unhappiness, and or, the teacher’s had talked to them. He knew they’d attended several meetings at the school, which only deepened John’s foreboding._

_He burrowed deeper into the blanket cave he’d made, curling into a ball. He wished he had a sibling. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be so lonely._

_Besides, he was sort of envious of other boys, who had younger siblings to look after…_

_He liked that idea. Being able to protect someone…_

_Sometimes, he’d play with Parisa. She’d been one of the few who hadn’t disliked him, who would still play, still acknowledge him…as a boy, not something weird…or different…something scary. Sometimes he’d pretend she was his sister. She certainly fit the bill, for someone who seemed like they needed a protector. She was small, and fragile looking, with thin, delicate arms and legs. Her big brown eyes, where just like a doll, and her long black hair, usually in braids or twin tails, added to that comparison._

_John smiled, remembering that they were going to go swimming at Lake Gusev next week, before summer break was over. He was looking forward to it. Somewhat cheered, John unfolded himself, and lay on his side, rubbing his feet contentedly against the soft sheets._

_‘’John?’’_

_His smile widened a fraction. That was the other good thing in his life, the one constant…the one person who was always on his side. His father, though he of course loved him, was often away, and so unfortunately, John never felt as close to him, as he did his mother.That was one other good thing about trip to Lake Gusev, his dad was taking him._

_He listened as she drew near the bed; giggled as her hands lightly poked at him in a mock attempt to discover his location._

_‘’What are you doing?’’ came his mother’s voice, slightly muffled through the blankets covering him, but with the hint of a lough._

_He waited for her to uncover him, grinning up at her, as at last she extricated him from the tangle of fabric._

_Her face showed the laughter he’d heard in her voice; her full lips were pulled into a smile, and her large, clear blue eyes, sparkled. He quickly studied the perfect oval of her face, framed in dark brown hair the same color as his own; loving it, memorizing it…each line, the light freckles on her cheeks that were also just like his._

_He sat up, leaning into her touch, as her hand caressed his cheek; inhaling the familiar scent of her floral soap._

_‘’Why were you burrowed in your bed? Weren’t you suffocating?’’ she asked, before drawing him into a hug, and pressing her lips to his forehead._

_‘’No,’’ he murmured back, tightly locking his arms around her familiar, comforting shape, ‘’I was just thinking…’’_

The image, the words, began to get hazy...

Half awake, half asleep…he tried desperately to hang on…to make it go on longer…

It was like suffocation…he felt like he was dying…but instead of his lungs screaming for breath, his mind struggled for images…until it was almost painful…until despite his struggle, the picture faded entirely…

 John opened his eyes, staring at the inside of his helmet; the images and feelings slowly faded, like mist in the morning sun.

He closed his eyes a moment, still just able to feel her cool fingers against his cheek, her soft lips on his brow…see her loving expression…

Once more he opened his eyes, as the last remnants, the final traces of her faded…slipping through the pathways of his mind, like water through cupped hands.

It was all gone…just like always…melting like frost in the sun…nothing remained…he could hardly even remember the dream at all…

This life was now the only life.

Even by age nine, this life, this warrior life, the existence he’d lived as a soldier in training for the three years before that, seemed longer than that time before. That shadow life that only existed now, in his most distant dreams, and faint recollections. So now, with ten more years beyond that, it had faded to an extent that it may have only been something made up; except he knew better than to think so, and deep down, he had not _really_ forgotten. He couldn’t pretend _she_ was something imaginary…that he and the sib’s had sprung into existence fully formed, from nowhere, with no past, no beginning. He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t think about her sometimes.

…

It was another burned world. Another bitter loss; the might of humanity, the pride of their ingenuity lain to waste; nothing more than ash in the bitter wind. The charred, broken remains of buildings reached up to the sky, as if to curse their fate, looking like jagged, blackened teeth, of some ancient, fossilized beast.

Those who had survived had taken what few options were available. Many had hid down the sewers, or in other underground structures, and had come out largely unscathed. Others weren’t so lucky.

It was unusual for Spartan’s to be present for a civilian evac, but as they’d failed to win the battle to save the planet, it was the least they could do, to help the other troops, by overseeing the evacuation of the remaining survivors.

His gaze rested on one of the women in the queue. At first, he wasn’t sure what had caught his attention; certainly there wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about her. She was as ragged and worn as the rest. Her clothes were stained, and scuffed, her hair, in its loose braid, was dusty, making it look greyish, over the dark brown.  

 A child gripped her hand, a little girl, with what appeared to be a tattered stuffed elephant tucked tightly under her arm. The woman shifted slightly, adjusting the bag of what were likely their soul remaining possessions, to a slightly more comfortable position on her back.

John was about to give up on his incomprehensible study, when the woman turned, kneeling down to answer the tug the girl had made on the hem of her shirt. Anything else about the scene, about what was going on around him blurred away. The breath catching in his throat, as he looked at the woman’s face; it was the face from his dreams…the face he longed for…

He could smell the soap; he could hear her gentle, quiet voice…feel her cool hand on his cheek…

A half gasp, half cry slipped out, making the heads of his teammates turn subtly in his direction, ‘’everything alright, sir?’’ Kelly asked, her voice seeming faint even though it was right by his ear, filling his helmet…

‘’Yes,’’ he heard himself say, with his normal, somewhat detached voice, ‘’everything is fine,’’

There was a worried pause, he could feel, and almost hear them thinking, worrying, wondering. But how could he tell them? _What_ could he tell them? The last time he’d really thought about her, was on their very first mission, against the rebel base in the asteroid belt, in his home system when he was fourteen. Apparently, she’d been on the run, moving from world to world…as the Covenant’s relentless, unquenchable hate marched forward, consuming all in its path.

Slowly, their heads turned back to supervising the task at hand. Linda’s voice startled him, even though she spoke very softly, ‘’it’s her, isn’t it?’’ she murmured over a private comm.

John turned his head subtly, looking at her faceplate; how could she have known? Yes, a long time ago, or what seemed to be now, when they were still kids, they had sunk out one night, up to one of the hills, off the base, to stargaze, and spend a rare bit of time exclusively in each-others company. It had been a risk, but when you’re ten, shit like that was fun. He had confessed to her, as they lay side by side, in the quietly swaying tall grass, that he still had dreams about his home, and about his mother. She had listened, not teased him, or mocked the moment of emotion it brought him; instead she’d snuggled closer, and put her arm around him, until he’d collected himself.

So now, after almost more than ten years, the fact Linda had apparently remembered that conversation, and had somehow, almost miraculously made the same connection John had, from only the likely, vaguest description of a woman, who even then was half forgotten, was astounding.

‘’Yes,’’ he breathed, feeling an unwelcome tightness in his throat, making it impossible to say more, not that he really wanted to, or knew what to say…

Linda took a half a step closer to John’s side, adjusting her rifle, making it look like she was bored and fidgeting, not that a Spartan would really do that, but, who watching, if they were, would know that, or care for that matter. In the armor, they were little better than aliens to the other humans they were overseeing.

John shifted too, silently grateful for Linda’s perceptiveness. It was better, not to feel this, to live this alone. He didn’t know what he felt, as he looked at them, and maybe that was better. It was a bitter irony. Never before had he been grateful for a suppression of feeling…but now, it was a blessing.

There was no way to deal with it otherwise.

He watched his mother, and the girl, who was apparently his sister, move up in the queue; all he could let it be, let them be, was a motivation, a reason to keep fighting…to keep pushing. He would fight to protect them from afar; though real…though alive…they would remain nothing more than a dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always found Parisa an interesting component...I'm sort of surprised that there aren't more fan fictions that mention her, or use her as a love interest.  
> Unfortunately, for my work, this one at least, this will be the only mention she'll likely get!


	13. Always By Your Side

 

 

…Two years later…

 

She couldn’t move, she couldn’t talk.

Her heart pounded, making an unpleasant whooshing sound and feeling in her ears and head. Well, at least it proved she was still alive.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the others, or at least those on either side. She was fairly certain the one on her right was Fred and the one on her left Kelly.

Where were John and Kurt? And what the hell had happened? The last thing she remembered was John’s voice, saying ‘abort’, as the darkness, and weakness had closed in around her.

A faint wave of nausea rolled over her; where they all dead? Was she about to die too?

Her breath entered and exited her lungs, albeit a little raggedly, making a faint mist on the inside of her visor with each exhale.

She was on her knees, hunched forward over them, with her arms at her sides.

A wave of panic spread across her, settling deep in the pit of her stomach, as she desperately tried to make her body obey her commands.

Her muscles ached in response to her brain’s screamed instructions.

Nothing changed.

She remained paralysed on the dirty metal floor. An ache spread from the base of her neck down her spine; it intensified the harder she pointlessly attempted to struggle.

Never before had she felt more helpless. Well… _almost_ never.

Faint memories surfaced, adding to her tormented, panicked state.

A misty September morning, on her way to school:

The area was pretty rural, and she had been crossing a particularly empty stretch with no close homes, when a car had drawn up beside her. She turned her head to look at it, confused about why it was stopping…

She didn’t have long to think, to question…to be afraid…

Two women quickly got out, both dressed in dark uniforms, with a little triangular logo…which now she knew all too well was the badge of ONI...on their shoulders.

Before she could move, or open her mouth to scream, or raise her fist to defend herself, one grabbed her firmly from behind, while the other jabbed a needle into her leg. Her last memories were of a terrifying state; able to see, able to hear, able to be afraid…but unable to move…unable to escape…

Everything faded. Within seconds they’d bundled her into the car; the next thing she remembered, was that first morning on Reach.

The shadowy memory gave rise to another even as it faded:

She was nine…

They’d been taking climbing lessons, and that morning they’d been learning to rappel. She’d made it half way down, when the rope had broken in a freak accident.

It was about ten feet to the ground, and she fell like a stone; her chest filled with a spreading terror…which settled into her stomach, with a sickening, sinking feeling…and a horrible helplessness…

Faint sounds, people screaming, Will yelling above, calling, then screaming her name…

Colors blurring by…

It was over in seconds, she’d not even had time to scream. The impact smacked the air from her lungs and knocked her out.

Faintly, sounds began to register…

She could taste blood…and her tongue felt swollen.

She could feel the aching pain…spreading through her whole body…

Someone was shaking her…

Her eyes fluttered open…

Blurry faces looked down at her…

Their voices seemed to come from down a tunnel, and sounded like they were talking under water.

She tried to talk, she tried to move…

She couldn’t.

John peered into her face, calling her name, gently, urgently, as in the background she could hear Mendez giving orders for someone to fetch a medic.

She’d wanted to answer him…but the darkness took her again.

Linda blinked, as the second memory faded away. She had been lucky that she’d only gotten a broken arm, bruises and a concussion from the fall.

Back in the present, a shadow flickered across her visor, and she strained her eyes to try and see what had caused it. She heard boots, and the faint jingle of equipment, then saw several pairs of legs enter the area they were being held in.

 Voices or rather, a voice broke through the sound of her breaths, and thudding pulse. It was a man’s voice, likely, General Graves, head of this Insurrectionist cell. She heard the sneer in his tone, as he addressed someone, apparently one of them, and as it wasn’t Fred to her right, there must be someone beside him…

Linda released a heavy breath, feeling the tension in her chest, and the leaden worry in the pit of her stomach lighten, at the sound of John’s low voice, sounding more gruff, and gravely than normal. He was still alive…there was still hope…

Where was Kurt though? Further on, beside John? Or had he gotten away? If he had, he was probably their best chance out of this situation, as she struggled once more against the force that kept her immobile and horribly vulnerable on the floor.

As she listened to the exchange, it became clear that the speaker was indeed Graves, and that Kurt had escaped, or had never been caught, as Graves referred to Blue Team, as a ‘four man team.’ A seed of hope began to grow, an assurance that somehow Kurt would get them out of this mess; a mess, thought Linda with a spark of anger, they’d never have been in, had John just listened to Kurt to begin with!

Just as she’d finished thinking this, an explosion rocked the room, pelting their armor with rocks and metal. Their captors screamed and shrieked in surprise and pain.

Seconds later, the modified Warthog burst through the injured wall, and a figure hopped out, tossing several more grenades, taking out the surviving Insurrectionists, who were struggling shakily to their feet, bleeding from ears and mouths.

Linda smiled faintly. Glad that today was not the day she’d die.

Kurt’s riffle snarled, firing short, quick bursts, taking out the last of the struggling Innie’s.

He checked the room was clear, then moved to each of his teammates and removed the paralysing collars.

Linda gasped, a crushing, burning pain seeming to shoot thought each nerve, like bites from a fire ant. There was no time to think about the discomfort however, and she quickly got to her feet, relieved that she could do so, that her body once more responded to her commands. The terror was over. She knew they weren’t safe yet, but felt sure that nothing else today, would be worse, or more terrifying than the effects of the collar had been.

John ordered them to load up the nukes, and then they all piled into the heavily weighted ‘Hog.

They were under attack almost immediately. The burdened vehicle groaned and creaked ominously as Kurt insisted it move faster; bullets puckering into its frame, with a pinging clatter.

They crouched tight behind the nukes, using their super-hardened shells as an ironic advantage.

The wounded Warthog billowed smoke, but kept going, as Kurt punched them through the fence and into the dark forest, swerving, and fishtailing slightly as the rear tire blew out with an unsettling bang.

He maintained control, and pushed on, bumping and jarring over rocks and other detritus common to forest floors.

‘’Drones!’’ Warned Kurt, as John gave the order to Kelly and Fred to open the panels of the roof; he stuck his head out, as Linda popped up beside him. They opened fired at the closing MAKO drone, as fast as their riffles could chamber the next round. The lead drone burst into a cloud of smoke and debris, and crashed into the surrounding trees.

John glanced at Linda out of the corner of his eye. He was so relieved that she seemed to be alright, and that she was here with him, by his side, the way she’d always been…

Any further thought was cut off however by the others drones still in pursuit. The one that moved up to take the place of its fallen construct fired its missile.

Linda fired on it, John doing the same, until he heard her rifle’s bolt clack empty. His own following suit a second later and despite their best efforts, the missile was still dead on target, and closing fast.

‘’Three hundred meters to PZ,’’ Kelly’s voice informed him from behind. ‘’Welcoming committee has us in their sights,’’

John felt a little of the remaining tension leave his chest.

‘’Roger that. Tell them we have the package, and that we need a hand.’’

As always, the roar of the Pelican’s engines brought a sense of relief, an assurance that things would be alright. John watched with satisfaction as it appeared over the dark trees, and opened fire with its chain guns on the missile, making it explode into a fiery flower.

The wounded Warthog groaned to a grateful stop, still belching clouds of smoke.

The Pelican clamped against the prone vehicle, lifting them up, and away from danger. John hurried to make sure his team’s suit integrity was secure, there was no way he’d ever lose another Spartan the way he’d lost Sam…at least not if he could help it.

Relieved as four status lights winked back green signals, he let out a heavy breath he’d not realized he’d been holding.

They’d made it.

Kurt had saved their asses, no doubt about it. John quietly resolving to himself, as he once more looked over at Linda, to make sure that in future, he listened to Kurt and his ‘feelings’.

…

They’d all made it. Just barely, but still, making it out, and completing a mission, even if it’d been a narrow escape, was better than failing…or worse, losing another Spartan. Thank god for Kurt.

It didn’t stop her from being annoyed at John though.

He was so ridged these days. More and more so, with each passing week, month, and mission; that had been the problem today. He just couldn’t understand the need for intuition, for Kurt’s ‘feelings’…and it had nearly cost them everything.

She turned her face into the stream of warm water, savoring it, letting herself unwind.

Linda rotated her shoulders, and leaned forward to stretch her back, attempting to ease the stiffness, and ache that seemed permanently lodged there, after being subjected to the horrid collar. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she’d been scared.

 Another faint memory sifted by, as she thought about the feeling, while attempting not to. A vague recollection, like the ones she’d had earlier.

She was in a cozy bed, with soft sheets, and a thick duvet. It was just before dawn, her eyes were trained on the ceiling, and peripherally she could see the window, where the faintest grey light was beginning to warm the world. And she couldn’t move. She wanted to, she could feel her heart rate elevate, she wanted to cry out, she wanted to turn over…it was her birthday…this couldn’t happen to her on her birthday…

It had lasted for about a minute, before, like today, once the collar was removed, she suddenly regained the ability to move…

Linda exhaled deeply, closing her eyes a moment, before letting them come slowly half open. Sleep paralysis; yes, that was likely what she’d had that morning she’d turned six. Maybe it had been some weird premonition; seven days later, ONI agents would kidnap her on her way to school.

Had that really been fifteen years ago? Linda blinked, and bit the inside of her lip, angry that this was all coming up, she’d locked it away, in order to survive, in order to cope. She didn’t have time for this…this nonsense of thinking about birthdays, about her old bed, her old room…about being taken…

She startled slightly, as the shower beside her sputtered to life, feeling annoyed she’d let herself get so sunk in the empty echoes of a past she’d never reclaim. Straightening herself, she looked to her left, the corner of her lips twitching up; of course, he always knew when she was upset…or maybe, he was just taking a shower…

…

He knew she’d be in the showers. It was fairly late, and it was unlikely that they’d be in use. It was a habit unbroken since girlhood; Linda always tried to shower with the least amount of people around, and nearly two decades in the military hadn’t changed that.

He gazed appreciatively at her body as he undressed. Watching the water cascade off her smooth, pale skin; skin that he knew was soft as a rose petal. As always, the sight of her bare body brought mixed feelings for him. On the one hand, there were the memories, the happy times, when they’d still been whole, and able to feel things properly. Then on the other, the black reality of what basically amounted to chemical castration…and inevitably caused anger and frustration.

However, all thoughts of that, or anything else were put from his mind, as he took in her hunched posture. Something was bothering her, she’d not been quite right since they’d come back.

He started the shower next to hers, waiting for her to make the next move; either she’d talk about what was bothering her, or she wouldn’t…

But…if she _wouldn’t_ he’d still find a way to get her to. He couldn’t let her live in her inner castle of ice too much.

…

Linda watched as the water quickly soaked into his short hair, plastering it to his head. He turned his face into the stream of water, exhaling it from his mouth, as he rubbed his hands across his face.

A twinge of annoyance flared in her chest; why was he ignoring her? _Was_ he ignoring her?

John’s eyes came abruptly open, as a sharp pain lanced through his hip. He looked over at Linda, who looked back, with slightly narrowed eyes.

Had she really pinched him? He smiled…it was such a _girly_ thing to do…

The smile slipped when she slapped him.

‘’Ow,’’ he muttered, ‘’what was that for? And why were you pinching me?’’ He grumbled, rubbing his stinging cheek.

To his surprise, Linda wrapped her arms around herself, hanging her head, as she tried to stifle a sob, her shoulders trembling.

‘’Linda…’’

She leaned into him, as his arms wrapped around her slick form. But, then, to add to the layers of confusing emotional behavior, she pulled back a little, slamming her fist into his chest, looking at him with a furious gaze; ‘’why didn’t you listen to Kurt?’’ she snarled, ‘’you could have…we could have _all_ been killed!”

Slowly, something began to click into place in John’s mind.

The collars; the collars had scared her. Hell, they’d scared him a little too…it was worse than the uncertainty he always felt when on a ship; that awful feeling of no longer being in control of your own body.

‘’You’re right, I should have listened to Kurt. I’m just thankful we had him with us today…’’

Linda crumpled against him again, tucking her head under his chin, seemingly content to be held…accepting his physical apology.

They hadn’t been this close in a long time.

If he concentrated…or maybe it was better not to…he could still feel, the old feelings, the faint traces of desire…

Linda listened to the steady thud of John’s heart, as she lightly rubbed her cheek against his chest. She looked up at him, as his thumb stroked across her shoulder, swirling against her collarbone, before ghosting over the swell of her breast.

The water in these showers was unusually warm, and the stream more plentiful. He bumped his lips against hers, hesitant…mostly because he feared her rejection…the rejection he’d started, and unwillingly maintained for the most part.

For a moment, she stiffened, seeming unsure, before parting her lips, and accepting his kiss. Her body melted against his, as she firmly wrapped her arms around his neck. John gripped her back, making a soft grunt of mixed relief, and pleasure.

His hand settled on her waist, gripping her hip, while the other lightly stoked over her breast, and continued down, over her toned stomach, to the soft curls between her legs. He paused again, then lightly brushed against her sex, gently parting her warm folds.

Linda moaned against his mouth, spreading her legs slightly, allowing him to slip in a finger, stiffening a moment, before adjusting, sighing as he inserted another.

Curving his fingers gently, he stroked against her warmth and wet, pulling her closer. His thumb found her clitoris, rubbing firm circles against it, making Linda cry out softly, arching her back hard, her teeth clenching.

John found her mouth again, their kiss becoming wild, and open mouthed. Their love, their starvation for each other overflowing. All thought, all duty momentarily forgotten. John encouraged her to turn, and slowly backed them to the slick, tiled wall. He removed his fingers, noting her disappointed sigh as she ground her hips against his, against his arousal.

It was an encouraging thought that even with the thyroid implants, physical love was still possible. Maybe the effects had worn off a little over the last six years…

 _‘’Or maybe’’_ , whispered a nasty little voice in the back of John’s thoughts, _‘’maybe the real barrier that was there, was the one_ you _put there…the one_ they _told you was there…the one you’re bound to…the barrier of duty,’’_

Rationally, he dismissed the thought. It was only partially true…the implants had had a devastating effect, certainly initially. But he knew that the distance between them, was largely his doing…so, in that, the thought was completely correct and he felt guilt for it.

…

She stood silently for a few moments, watching her rival, and her commanding officer. Since the fight six years ago, her relationship with Linda was much the same as it had been before: one of cool, to cold tolerance and general indifference. She could work with the woman, as part of the team, because she had to, but she certainly did not feel any form of real friendship toward her.

Kelly shook her head a little, and narrowed her eyes at the scene before her. John had promised that nothing like this would happen again… _she’d_ made him promise…for the sake of the team…

A distant feeling of guilt pricked at her conscience; she was still jealous, and making John agree to break things off with Linda had been more about her than the team.

Clearing her throat, Kelly called out in as matter-of-fact a voice as she could: ‘’Sir, the Captain would like a word,’’

Well, it was true, an officer had asked her to find John, saying that when he had a moment, the Captain wanted a word…

She watched with grim satisfaction as John’s back stiffened, and their movements, moans and groping ceased.

They detangled from each other, John looking over his shoulder at Kelly, who was leaning against the doorway to the locker room, with her arms crossed over her chest.

She shrugged, ‘’I guess I should have knocked. But, _that_ sort of thing is usually reserved for being locked in a private cabin, or at the very least, some hidey hole, away from where you’re likely to be found…’’ She was surprised as the lecture spilled from her lips, but the stricken pallor of Linda’s face was reward enough for her risk.

The stony, coldly angry look John was giving her though made any further comment evaporate. She’d crossed a line, and she knew it. But, on the other hand, so had he, he’d _promised_ …

John held Kelly’s gaze for several more seconds. The only sound was the drip from the shower, and Linda’s quiet, but shallow breaths beside him.

He was about to speak, when Linda stepped forward, her fists balled at her sides, ‘’get out,’’ she whispered coldly, taking another step toward Kelly, who’s eyes flicked in her direction, ‘’GET OUT!’’

Kelly looked between them, then settled on John for a moment, ‘’we’ll talk about this later, _sir_ …’’ she murmured. Glancing once more at Linda, she turned and walked from the showers.

...

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’Don’t be. She’s right… _you_ were right, to do as _she_ asked to break this off…what were we thinking...what was _I_ thinking?’’

John was momentarily stunned...how could Linda know that it had been Kelly's idea? Yet, how could she _not_ know...

“Linda…’’ he began, helplessly following her from the showers, guilt raw in his chest.

‘’I mean, why do we keep trying? You’ll just push me away again, do whatever she says…’for the team’…’’ raged Linda coldly.

‘’Please….’’ John pleaded quietly, knowing he had no right to make her listen, and feeling helpless to explain anyway. This wasn't about Kelly...or keeping her happy...it _was_ about the team, making them work effectively...no matter what; personal sacrifice...one of the main rules of being a soldier...

‘ _’No_ ,’’ hissed Linda, her green eyes slits as she gave him a final withering look.

Linda stomped into the locker area, and began to briskly dry herself, her back to John. He watched as she pulled on clothes, and aggressively laced her boots, and then stormed from the room without a back look.

He leaned against the lockers for a moment. The metal icy cold and unpleasant against his bare back.

Whatever he did, he’d be wrong.

John closed his eyes for a few moments, the last feelings of warmth and arousal draining away, and he hated the fact; the cold metal at his back seeming to seep into every cell of his body…numbing, deadening.

He let his eyes come half open; he knew what he had to do…she’d know why. She’d do what he told her to…even if it tore them both up inside…to no longer be at each other’s side.

 

 

 


	14. Green Team

 

 

*Flashback* 2525

 

Gradually, Kelly stopped her spasmodic sobs, breathing shakily, and deeply, her wet cheek pressed tightly to his chest, her tears had soaked through the thin green fabric, making a quickly cooling damp spot against his skin.

John continued to quietly hold her, listening as her breathing eased, and evened. All the while torn about what he was feeling right now.

On the one hand, he could excuse Kelly’s outburst, on the other, he wanted to punch her. It was too much…too much to add to how he was feeling right now about Sam. He felt that he owed her this time…this comfort. As he suspected that in many ways, and certainly from what Kelly had implied, Sam’s death meant a lot more to her…hurt a lot worse.

Yet at the same time, her outburst at Linda had been inexcusable. But, he was guilty for that too…he’d brought her along…

He should be with her right now in the med bay, not Fred…

John slowly and carefully inhaled and exhaled some deep breaths, willing himself to push away the anxiety inducing surge of emotions and second guessing that was threatening to choke him.

Kelly slowly looked up at him with reddened eyes, and pale blotchy cheeks. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and he could tell from the look in her icy blue eyes she was back under control. That horrible, detaching Spartan control; the place you shoved all your feelings, all your pain, so deep down you could almost pretend it wasn’t there…that you didn’t feel it… _Almost_.

 ‘’You can’t do this with her anymore…’’

Her words were a harsh whisper, the edge her voice carried vaguely threatening.

John looked at her with a closed expression, while at the same time unable to ignore the thumping, almost painful squeezing beat of his heart.

‘’John!’’ she hissed, tightening her grip on his shirt, and thudding her fists against his chest, as if to emphasize her point.

‘’You can’t keep…having feeling…for her…it’s breaking the team apart…’’

Kelly found the look in his dark blue eyes one that might be called pitiless, as he remained silently gazing at her face. The loose embrace he’d held her in was gone, his arms resting limply at his sides.

How could Kelly say that? If anything, she was the one breaking the team, not Linda…or his feelings for Linda. Yet…in some ways, she was right too. Any tension, whatever the cause was a threat to the team, to their duty…their effectiveness on missions.

‘’Get some rest,’’ he said at last, ‘’we’re going to be busy,’’

Kelly watched his retreating back, calling out to him before he left the room:

‘’You know I’m right John…’’

She watched as his hand clenched momentarily into a fist, as he paused in his stride a moment, then proceeded out the door. He wouldn’t dignify her pettiness with an answer.

He needed to be alone…he needed to think…he needed to fall apart, he needed to put himself, and his team back together, no matter what.

…

His chest ached with ragged, embarrassing sobs. His body shuddered as he forced himself to stay together, to not shatter apart into a million jagged pieces. He’d never felt like this before and it sacred him. He felt so out of control…so helpless…

He never cried. Yet, he couldn’t stop.

Clutching his arms around himself, he rocked gently side to side, on the cold metal floor. Once again in the hold, but this time very much alone…so, so alone. The various vehicles looking on indifferently to his torment, as his cries ricocheted off them, and into the cold of the cavernous hold.

…

_‘’Well?’’_

‘’Well _what?’’_

‘’Did you tell her?’’

John clenched his teeth a moment…then shoved on his helmet.

‘’Yes, it won’t happen again’’ he said stiffly.

Kelly nodded softly, ‘’good,’’

‘’I didn’t do this for you…’’ he murmured coldly, watching her gaze flick up to his impartial faceplate.

‘’Yes you did, you did it for _all_ of us,’’

John looked at her a moment longer, then turned, clumping out of sight down the hallway. Yes, he thought bitterly, he’d done it for all of them, even Linda.

There was no time for feelings, no time for distraction…

No time for anything but death.

*end flashback*

 

…four years later, from last chapter...

 

There was no other way, he knew there wasn’t. It had had to be done…

He’d allowed himself to be weak in the past…slipped up, been selfish…

But for four years now, he’d kept his promise. Done his duty; and she’d done hers. It didn’t mean it was easy…it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

John blinked, thinking briefly back to that morning, after Kelly had caught them in the shower.

The morning he gave her her new order…her new position, and function within the team.

She’d looked at him neutrally, as he’d known she would. Her face blank, and emotionless, accepting his wishes, his _command_ …

But her eyes…just as they’d always done, pierced through him. Though nothing showed on her face, he both saw and _felt_ her grief, disappointment, and anger at what he was doing to her…to them…

As John watched her leave their meeting, he promised himself, that one day, no matter what, he’d live, they’d _both_ live to see a time, where they would not have to be apart, while still being so close…

…

It had been presented like a promotion, and it sort of was; it said, ‘I trust you _SO_ much you can be leader to a whole team! See, I didn’t trust _Kelly_ enough for that, she’s still _ONLY_ Blue Two!’

But, whatever it was supposed to be, whatever he’d told himself it was…she knew better.

They were drifting apart…slowly but surely, and now on larger missions, since that ‘promotion’ four years ago, she was no longer on Blue, she was always Green One, with James, Maria, Grace, Isaac and Joseph.

As someone who often preferred to function alone, even when she’d been part of Blue, it had been a hard adjustment, to being team leader. The anxiety of the role never really went away. It was always just another thing to stuff aside; another feeling to burry in some deep place, where all such ‘useless’ things were put; gone, but always there: the sting of rejection, and the anxiety of being without her rock, the one thing that had been constant, and comforting in a world of endless perils, and unpredictability.

Thankfully, the others had enough respect for her, that they accepted her leadership and command, and readily completed their functions without issue.

But despite all that, through the haze of endless battles, endless, defeat, endless, wearing exhaustion, the fact still remained, that her new position…’promotion’…was hollow comfort for the only thing she really wanted: to be back at John’s side. Nothing would ever compensate, or make up for the loss of that.


	15. A Separation Called Death

 

 ...Sixteen Years Later...

 

 

Choices: We make millions in our lives; ranging from the most insignificant, to the potentially life altering. There is never any way of knowing the consequences. It is always a gamble, always a risk, unable to see how things will come back to haunt us, how our attempts at manipulating fate, strike out, and blow up in our faces, leaving us lost in the chaos, pain and dust.

He’d chosen Linda to be with him. Her and James. He needed her skills, she was the best shot, there was on one else who could equal her. It was a risk. It was always a risk. He felt, as always, a space op, was by far the more dangerous mission, to any ground engagement.

So, he’d sent the others, to the surface, for the ‘easy’ mission. Kelly had been shocked, and probably a little angry at his choice; when she’d been informed that not only could she not accompany him on the op to recover the data chip from Gamma Station, but that she’d be under Fred’s leadership while on the ground. He hoped he was up to it, he seemed nervous. And nervousness before, and indeed at any point in a mission could be fatal.

He supposed he ought to have let her lead, she was Blue Two after all; his right hand, his second in command. But, somehow, he felt she’d be better continuing on in a support role.

 She’d obeyed, of course, but he could sense her confusion and displeasure. A set of feelings that seemed to deepen when he announced Linda would be with him, as Blue Two.

He could have sent her too, but, maybe by being with him, he’d be able to keep her safe. In fact, if he were to be honest with himself, he knew this was the real reason he wanted her at his side.

Unfortunately he could not have been more wrong; or regretted his decision more profoundly, as the terror, his deepest fears came brutally, and horrifically to life.

Everything was falling apart; no other plan had ever gone less to plan than this. They lost James almost instantly, in a way that was a terrible waste; an equipment malfunction that would result in a slow, suffocating, icy death. It would be kinder for him to be hit in the crossfire, thought John grimly.

Struggling, he felt they might just make it…they almost had…they might manage to salvage it…

So it was with helpless horror, that John watched the plasma bolts impact Linda’s body. She cried out; his body feeling each of them, as though they’d hit him too.

Her gasp of pain, becoming a faint scream, echoed in his helmet speaker.

She fell to her knees, then flopped back, laying prone, trembling slightly; her ragged breathing, and weak, pain strangled moans ringing in his ears…even though they were hardly perceptible.

John bit his lip until he tasted blood; his eyes burned, and an aching lump was forming in his throat.

He barked at the Marines to get her back inside the Pelican.

As soon as they’d dragged her smouldering form inside, he sealed the hatch, and ignited the engines to full thrust, rocketing them into space, and to the rendezvous with the _Pillar of Autumn._

Finding that Sargent Johnson could fly the Pelican, he gave him control, and went to Linda in the small troop bay.

Guilt raw in his chest.

He’d let her go...’’have her turn’’…he’d failed to cover her…

The lump in his throat grew tighter, as he knelt by her side, taking her limp hand in his own.

 

Pain…

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move…

Blurry…the world was fading…

She needed to get up…he needed her…

Mouth so dry, she couldn’t swallow…

Everything sounded like an echo…

Confused…

So much _pain..!_

Someone is talking…

_John_ …

John… _yes_ …

No…

_No_ …

Dying…

Yes, she’s _dying_ … _I’m dying!_

No…he _needs_ me..!

Her visor depolarized…

Had she done that?

Yes…

Maybe…

There is pressure on her hand…

He is holding her hand…

She feels a faint burst of delight at this…

Then…it’s gone…

Pain… _pain_ is all that is left…

He’s talking again…she makes herself listen…he sounds so upset…

Dying…yes, she is dying, and he is upset…

So is she…

_‘’Did you do it?’’_ her mouth seems to move on its own…she sounds faint… _’’get the database?’’_

She feels like she is in two places…

She is looking up at John, John who has tears in his eyes…

She is also looking down on herself, with John at her side; her abdomen is burned, and her blackened ribs protrude from her melted mess of armor, dark blood oozes…the air reeks of burnt flesh, smoke and ozone.

‘’Yes, _we_ did it,’’ he says to her, squeezing her hand tighter…his voice is hard, and pained.

_‘’Good, we won,’’_ She hears herself say…

Things get faint again…she can’t feel anything…even the pain…

She can’t see his face anymore…

She is only in the looking down position now…

‘’Yes,’’ he says, ‘’we won,’’ his voice laden with bitterness and grief.

She feels…no… _watches_ …as he lets go of her hand…

Time stretches…fades…stops…she isn’t sure anymore…

The pain is back again…faintly…and she is in the between place again…in and out…

There is noise, panic, confusion…she needs to get up…she can’t move…

She _is_ moving…something is making her move…her head lolls…

He is carrying her…she both feels his arms, and watches him do so…

Again the fleeting feeling of delight…

Memories wash through her mind in confused waves…

John sharing some chocolate he stole from one of the soldiers with her…

John grabbing playfully for her as they swam in one of Reach’s cool, clear lakes…

John’s lips on hers, in a peaceful clearing, with petals falling softly around them…

John looking like a corpse, at the loss of 30 of their siblings…

John with blood staining his uniform, his face contorted in suppressed pain…during their first real mission…

John…vanished behind a visor of gold…

John…the organic automation…

John…gripping her hand…in defeat…in bitter sadness…

John…John…

Then…darkness…

Icy vapor envelopes her…and she is lost… _between_ …faint, scared…sad…

_Alone_.

 

…

 

John gazed helplessly for several long moments at Linda’s battered form in the cryo tube. His hand contracted against the smooth surface in helplessness.

He watched as fern-like fingers of frost began to obscure her form. His fist tightened. She _had_ to make it. He couldn’t lose her…not like this…

At last he tore himself away. Sick at heart at the situation, feeling only more disgusted at the ease with which he allowed himself to be comforted by lies, rather than accept facts. Accept that he had failed Linda.

He could understand Captain Keys' decision to get away from Reach, resulting in Red Team being left behind. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept, or make the pain any less acute.

John climbed into the waiting cryo tube, letting the tech’s seal him in. He had never felt more alone, or more heartbroken in his life.

He never lost, he never failed. There had always been a way before…

But this time, it felt like his luck had utterly abandoned him.

 

 


	16. Alone in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh* 
> 
> I am SO sorry it has taken me more than a month to update! And for saying, about 8 days ago, that I would update in no more than 5!  
> This piece IS my main priority. The trouble is that I've had so many ideas lately, that I'm working on the outlines for about six other pieces...and I get distracted. I also had, for some reason a hard time writing this chapter; at least I had serious writers block while attempting to write it.  
> I'm hoping that the others will follow a little more quickly and flow more easily.
> 
> Anyway, I apologize again for taking so long to update. Thank you to those who have read so far, and especially to those who have left Kudos and have been kind enough to Bookmark. It means a lot to me! 
> 
> :) 
> 
> ALSO
> 
> This chapter is largely based on/drawn from the book 'The Flood' which is of course basically the novelization of Halo CE. So, since we all (or most of us) know what happened, I'm not going to rehash it all. Instead I've touched on a few instances, blended with my own ideas and opinions etc. Otherwise this thing never would have gotten posted! 
> 
> AND, on a final side note...Major Antonio Silva is for me, the biggest asshole in the Halo verse...rivaled only perhaps by Captain Del Rio in Halo 4.

 

 

 

He was old enough, experienced enough, to know that things never go the way you want, just because you want them to. But now, he felt an almost childish anger, and petulant resentment that this was the case.

He wasn’t in control. He’d lost. They’d _all_ lost. _He’d_ failed them.

 

The mission, the war, his current state of mind, felt as under control as dropping a bag of marbles on a floor, and watching them roll in hundreds of directions, while you tried to chase them all down at once, and get them back into some sort of order.

But most frustrating and devastating of all was the knowledge that in trying to save Linda, in finally restoring her to her rightful place at his side, he’d as good as killed her.

In his slightly irrational state, this fact felt like some kind of punishment. As though the years he’d caved to Kelly, ‘for the good of the team’ as well as caving to his own insecurities, and the conflict of pursuing a forbidden relationship, had come back to haunt him, to mock him, and make him see how wrong he’d been.

 

The years he could have spent with Linda, _wasted_ , _lost_ …

And now, she was probably gone. The horror of this fact was one he could not face. He closed his eyes, letting himself fade into the icy dreamlessness of cryo, accepting the hollow peace it would afford him.

 

…

 

There had never been a place in his world for things like premonitions or superstitions. He had of course come across those who did, in one degree or another hold faith or belief in such things, but he’d never really understood why they would think such things were real, nor did he understand even remotely what having such an experience would feel like. Indeed, he’d never quite understood Kurt and his `feelings.’

The only thing in his world, in his personal experience that was at all similar, was _instinct_ , or intuition. It was perhaps just as elusive a feeling, or phenomenon; that ability to sense when you, or your unit were in danger. To see without seeing, to know without knowing; that there was a Jackal sniper unit hidden, waiting to try and ambush you.

To feel that faint prickle up your spine, when an Elite was prowling up behind you, or around you, hidden with its invisibility camouflage.

But his intuition had never been like those other phenomenon, or even like Kurt`s feelings, all of which seemed to grant the one experiencing it, the ability to know things in advance, or predict things before they happened. With instinct, he’d only even had seconds worth of warning, the briefest inkling which to act on, or react on.

So, it was with great surprise that he found a somewhat familiar dream morphing in a way that was most distressing, and unusual.

It was his most common dream. He really had so few, slept so little, and too lightly to build any sort of repertoire.

Not that he really wanted to. It was one of his secret fears, ever having too much time to think, or to rest. For his mind to have the chance to go over all the hell, and horror he had seen and been a part of.

To ever be in a place where his subconscious could pick and pry, and play with his defeats, his torments, and his fears. 

But this dream was that old, familiar one. The one that some deep, forgotten part of himself clung to, and would lovingly pull out from time to time; worn and faded more and more with the passing of the years, but still yearned for, still comforting.

That voice, calling his name; a voice he was no longer sure was really hers, or only one he’d subconsciously supplied over the years.

He turned as gentle arms encircled him, inhaling that familiar, though, like the voice, faded smell of floral soap. He tried to hug back, to say something, to see her face, struggling, begging his thoughts, his memories to come through for him.

And, as so often, was rewarded by a glimpse, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. That gentle-featured face, with its large expressive eyes, straight nose, and full lips…

John mentally tried to lean into the soft hand caressing his cheek, willing the dream to continue, to become more vivid. When suddenly it changed; he looked in alarm as the reassuring face, and mental imprint of the memory called ‘mother’ faded, and became another woman entirely, another ‘mother’ of sorts.

He looked into the piercing light blue eyes of Catherine Halsey. He felt distress, and perhaps revulsion, he wanted the other memory back, feeling irrationally frightened, betrayed by his own mind. Even as he thought and felt this, the face began to change again. His heart pounded, anxious, anticipatory…

But it was not his mother’s face that returned; rather it was a face much like the last, but less threatening. Cortana’s luminous almost transparent eyes gazed at him, while her lips quirked into a friendly, almost teasing smile.

Still confused, he felt slightly calmer for her appearance. The calm was very short lived though--as out of the gloom that had been slowly pressing in on the scene since the morphing of the mother figure to those of Halsey and Cortana--rose a strange shadowed form.

The hair on John’s nape prickled as he looked at its strange lumpiness, human, yet shapeless. There was something about it that scared John worse than anything else in his life ever had…

It was inexplicable…just some deep instinctual ‘ _knowing’_ that he was dealing with something else. Something non-living… _something_ …

A scream shook him out of his momentary horror induced paralysis. His gaze snapped to the Mother/Halsey/Cortana figure, panic coiling in the pit of his stomach when he could not locate it anymore; like they had simply faded into the mist, been absorbed…

 His heart thudded, his gaze snapping back to the creature, even as another piercing scream sheered through the gloom. He realized that it was a slightly different scream from the first; it was _her_ scream, the scream of agony, of death, only amplified, more desperate, more damning.

Frantically he looked about for something, anything to defend himself with…to rescue those who sounded like their very souls were being torn from their bodies. He began to run, the creature somewhere in the murky, dully morphing surroundings. He could hear it shuffling, moaning…or maybe those were only the moans of its victims.

Panic spurred him on, at last coming upon a rifle. Just as he did so, the creature appeared again out of the gloom, moving with unnerving speed and agility. John dodged, reaching out to grab up the rifle, only to find with gutting horror, that his arms, his body, were that of his child self. Small, slender, unable to hoist the weapon; unable to defend himself, unable to save the others…to save anyone…

He screamed then, not in fear, but in rage, in futility, in anguish, even as the monster advanced, mercilessly.

His eyes snapped open then, away from that dim twilight place between sleep and waking.  

He knew the moment the dream faded, and he regained consciousness, that something was wrong. His thoughts flitted over the beast, that horrible mutated, deformed thing; with its speed, and surprising agility. John shuddered involuntarily at the fading memory, which stubbornly refused to stop nagging the margins of his consciousness; like a warning.

‘’Sorry for the quick thaw Master Chief, but things are a little hectic right now.’’ The tech seemed a little rushed, but not panicked.

 It was still an ominous sentence, but John didn’t ask what he meant by ‘hectic,’ half hoping that somehow he had been mistaken; that his dream meant nothing, that it hadn’t been anything but frayed nerves and stress induced depression…not a real warning.

John extracted himself from the cryotube, quietly going through the motions, complying with the quick tests and checks the techs wished him to perform, and perform on him. But no matter how much he reasoned with himself, and tried to shove aside the cloying panic of the dream…he simply could not.

Something was going to happen…something worse than anything he’d yet endured.

Confirmed as Keyes’s voice sounded over the com, requesting his presence on the bridge; followed almost immediately by the unmistakable shudder and rumble of something, likely plasma, impacting the ship. Soon after came the sounds of screaming humans, and the all too familiar muffled squeaky snorting of Grunts, their feet scrabbling against the deck plates; and the guttural growling voices of Elites.

They’d run out of the proverbial frying pan, in fleeing Reach, and had landed into a new fire.

John steeled himself, shoving everything else from his mind. As usual, time to think, or ponder was over, there was now only time to act. And act one was completing the order to get to the bridge. And second to that, was the personal order he gave himself, to take as many Covenant out as he could along the way.

…

The world, as so often, was still going to hell around him. He felt small, insignificant, battling a wave of futility he refused to let himself drown in. The escape pod, with several others aboard, hurtled ‘down,’ in a semi controlled manner, to the silver ring structure.

He briefly thought of those he’d sent groundside back on Reach. Ordered to their certain deaths…

It was too painful. He felt a coward, trying to blank the thoughts away, but he could not bear it. Only, there was no safe place to run to. No safe thoughts to have.

Gazing up at the floundering _Autumn_ , with Keyes, Hikowa, Lovell and the others still aboard; fighting to make their landing on the Halo.

Somewhere up there, was Linda. Linda who he could not accept being dead. Linda, who he had failed; as a leader, and as a friend. Had she somehow made it? Was she still in her cryotube? Or was she burned; melted slag…

‘ _Made it.’_ What a lie…even if she had…she was still…still…

 _Dead_. The word bit at him, tearing at his heart with remorselessness.

He watched the glittering debris burn and tumble out its death, silently in the dark void, as he and an unknown number of others sought forced refuge on the strange ring. Only, it seemed to promise to be anything but a refuge.

 _Alone_. Alone except for her. He would never say it out loud, or fully admit it to himself, but he had never felt more grateful for the presence of the AI. He half listened as her cool, efficient voice rattled off positions, approximate troop numbers, calculations on how many she anticipated to land safely, Covenant chatter, and anything else she deemed of value to him.

It was just the two of them now. Alone, but together, to face whatever trials would await them on the ring.

He’d not been sure at first. In fact, it had taken him weeks, maybe longer, to accept her, literally _into_ his life; into his head.

Even after she’d proven herself in that rigged ‘test’ that Ackerson had concocted, he’d just not been sure.

It was awkward. She wasn’t like anyone he’d been with or around before. Her boldness, her snarky, sarcastic ways…her _flirting_ …

Nagging thoughts would surface, worries about how she factored into his relationship to Linda; though he would realize bitterly, that whatever ‘relationship’ they had, had basically evaporated. Yet, he would sense sometimes, from Linda hints of annoyance, directed toward Cortana.

He supposed this wasn’t entirely unexpected. Cortana had sort of filled a void in his life, or rather, he’d _let_ her fill that void. Though he would never quite admit it to himself, he was selfishly using Cortana’s affection for him.

Cortana was a piece of software, a brilliant, very human-like piece of software; but she couldn’t possibly have _feelings_ for him…Right?

But, when he would catch himself thinking these sorts of thoughts, he felt like an idiot, and would quickly shunt them aside.

All of it took a lot of getting used to.

But, used to it he certainly had become in the short time they’d been together. More than used it actually, _dependant_ in fact.

And he had a feeling, that he was about to need her more than he ever had before.

The landing was an extremely rough one, which was not unexpected. He was roused by Cortana’s voice:

‘’Chief? _Chief_ can you hear me?’’

Stiffly, he pulled himself to his feet, from the escape pod’s deck plates. ‘’Yes, I can hear you,’’ he half grumbled, ‘’you don’t need to shout.’’

He could almost hear her concern turn to annoyance, ‘’Oh, I wasn’t sure you could…you’re getting on in years,’’ she snipped.

Choosing to ignore her jab, John took in his surroundings. Things were rather grim. The others in the pod had died on impact. Once again, his altered body, and protective Mjolner had saved him. _Lucky_ _him_.

He exited the pod, and unslung his rifle, gazing about, trying to get his barring in the alien landscape. It was actually quite disarmingly, and deceptively beautiful. Dense, green vegetation, snowy mountains, and what looked like a lake or sea, stretched out before and around him, thinning strangely at the horizon. Arching his neck back, he took in the arcing curve, following it to the thinnest ribbon high above.

Well, however beautiful it seemed, with the Covenant around, it would hardly matter.

With Cortana once more running off stats and information, he brought his mind back to what promised to be an adventure of the most harrowing sort.

…

‘So, he is just a man after all,’ was the sarcastic thought that ran through Major Antonio Silva’s mind as he gazed at the Spartan. Of course he was _just_ a man. He for one did not buy into all the UNSC bullshit about the Spartan’s. He never had, and he never would. And as far as he was concerned, any interactions he was to have with them, certainly off the battlefield, would damn well be without them in their armor.

He refused to see them as something to be revered, something godlike. He saw them for what they were: killers, _murderers_ …freaks.

The man standing before him was in many ways very ordinary; a fact that actually irritated Silva. Thus making his attitudes of ridicule and derision slightly harder to maintain; but any ‘ordinary’ characteristics were easily swept aside by all those which were much less so.

He was less muscular than Silva had expected. Sure, he was very toned, and looked of course, extremely fit, but there was no bulk of overt musculature, indeed, he seemed almost fragile in some odd way, outside of his suit.

Certainly he could be considered a handsome man, to any organization outside of the military, which might care about, or value such things.

But one was much more likely to notice his extraordinary height, or his astoundingly pale skin. Or the way his indigo eyes seemed to look right through you; like they’d witnessed things that you couldn’t possible understand.

John saluted, while Silva surveyed him with a calculating sort of look, tapping the tip of a stylus against his lower lip.

This should have been the moment when most officers would have said ‘at ease,’ but Silva did not; just gazed a few more seconds. John’s sense of unease deepened. Something really was wrong then. But _what?_

‘’So, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here, and who I am’’ began Silva, not quite able to keep the malicious edge out of his voice.

John remained silent, still wary.

The Major continued, hardly pausing actually, ‘’which would be understandable, considering your… _elite_ …status, and close relationship to Captain Keyes, who we know has been captured. Loyalty is an admirable thing, a quality I, and the military as a whole value.’’ He paused a moment, looking John directly in the eyes.

‘’That being said there is still a chain of command, which means you report to _me_. Not to Keyes, not to Cortana and not to yourself.’’

Inwardly John bristled, outwardly he remained blank.

‘’So,’’ continued Silva, seeming to enjoy himself, ‘’I thought it would be a good time to have a little com check of sorts, get things clear. I’m short a Captain, so Lieutenant McKay is serving as my XO. If either of us says ‘crap’ I expect you to ask ‘what color, how much and where do you want it?’ Do you read me?’’

John stared, his mask slipping slightly for a second, before uttering a terse, ‘’perfectly, _sir_.’’

 ‘’Good.’’ Silva smiled humorlessly, pausing in his pacing, to lean against his improvised desk. ‘’Now, one more thing,’’ he began, ‘’I’m familiar with your record, and I admire it.’’

John couldn’t help but feel that was a lie, carefully made to knock him off balance, into some stupid false sense of security, and Silva’s next words, and train of attack seemed to confirm this.

‘’You certainly are one hell of a soldier. That said, you are also a _freak_ , the last remaining subject of a terribly flawed experiment.’’

The words struck him like physical blows, but he remained stolid. Giving only the merest outward signs. A slightly clenched jaw, narrowing of the eyes, and maybe the slightest hint of a frown, indicated only by tightness around his mouth.

He was aware of McKay watching him, he half wondered what, if anything she could see on his face. If she had any inkling of her—and now his—commanders words.

Wondered if she approved…if she cared…

Silva of course gave no indication that what he had said might be out of line, on the contrary, he continued with a vicious gusto, layering on the hurt.

‘’The whole notion of selecting people, _children_ , screwing with their minds and modifying their bodies is wrong. First because they have no choice, and second because it makes those subjects into some kind of human-alien, and third, because it all _failed_.’’

‘ _Aliens_ …’ John bit the inside of his cheek. Is that really what this man thought? Were he, and his fellow sibs seen as little better than those Covenant species, the enemy they struggled against? No more than ‘tame Hunters’ or something? Big, brutal, effective weapons, but not humans…not like _them_ …

‘’Are you familiar with a man called Charles Darwin? No, I don’t suppose you are. He never went to war.’’

If not for the nastiness of the interview, the man’s arrogance would almost be amusing. Why would he presume that he _wouldn’t_ know who Darwin was? That he and sibs studies would have been so narrow?

 _Because he thinks of you as mechanical, programmed war machines_ …came the sarcastic whisper in his mind. Which in turn made him wish Cortana was here with him, in the interface for support.

Silva continued, seeming to be in no hurry to get onto things that mattered, like reacquiring Captain Keyes, and how best to tackle gaining knowledge about this strange environment, and dealing with the Covenant who they were sharing it with.

‘’Darwin was a naturalist, who proposed a theory called ‘natural selection.’ Simply put, he believed that those species best suited to survive would do so, while those others, less effective organisms would die out. That’s what happened to the Spartans Chief: they died out. Or they will when you’re gone.’’ He seemed pleased with himself, with his explanation.

John continued to listen, with disgusted bemusement, as he was patronized with things he’d learned at age seven, with a depth and intricacy that he very much doubted Silva would even begin to understand—beyond the insulting summary he’d given.  

He continued, ‘’that’s where the ODST comes in. It was Helljumpers who took this butte son—not a bunch of augmented freaks in fancy armor. When we push the Covenant back, that victory will be the result of work by men and women like Lieutenant McKay here, _Human_ _beings_ , who are razor sharp, and metal tough. Do you read me?’’

They’d finally reached a wall, or at least John had. All his training, his ‘programming’ screamed for him to answer in the affirmative, with a firm ‘yes sir,’ but he could not.

This man was disgusting. Weak, and insulting beyond endurance. And current CO or not, he could not, _would_ not agree. He would not agree and thereby dishonor the dead…his family, conceding them to be ‘freaks’…’aliens’…less than human…

They stared at each other, or perhaps glared would be a better word. John had known from the moment he’d been asked to come to this meeting, without his armor on that it was a bad sign. And in that, his instinct had been correct. He felt it highly imprudent to be so exposed in a combat zone that was so volatile, all so this man could selfishly try and demean him.

This man, this ranking officer, showing his true self, his bias, his prejudice, his ugliness, and his hate; his mockery of the dead; his malice cut into John in a way that was hardly bearable.

He didn’t care about bearing the brunt, being the one receiving these words that burned like lashes from a whip, no, the only thing that really hurt, that stung, was hearing these words spoken about the others, his _family_ …

It took all his self-control, all the years of hardening, and emotional suppressing, to respond with little more than clenching his teeth, and involuntarily closing one hand into a fist.

Didn’t this man realise that if he’d wanted to—and he did—that he could have literally torn him in half, even without his suit on? That the only thing that ‘permitted’ him to speak this way was his rank and the ‘power’ it held? Perhaps he did, and he was counting on that power to protect him, to allow him to indulge in his venom without consequence…or maybe he wanted to take the risk, to bate him (John) to a place where he’d cross that line, so he could have him dispatched, done away with, like the others, dying prematurely, the ‘last of his species’ as the Major had put it.

Shaking this all aside, as much as he could, feeling like he was drowning in a mixture of, for him, unusual rage and heart-rending grief, John settled instead for a stiff, somewhat respectful, but utterly unyielding, ‘’no sir.’’

Silva narrowed his eyes a moment longer, looking rather shrewd, before relaxing his stance, shrugging one shoulder slightly, as if he was bored, or merely could no longer be bothered to talk about matters of importance with one who was beneath him…who was, to him, less than human…a ‘ _freak_.’

‘’I understand. ODST’s are loyal to our dead as well. But that doesn’t change the _facts_. The Spartan program is over. Human beings will win this war…so you might as well get used to it.’’

Silence lingered for a second or two longer, before, like nothing had happened, Silva seemed to thaw, and launched into tactics and their current situation, even uttering the long overdue ‘at ease.’

John stared at him for a few seconds longer, not really listening, feeling like he had at fourteen, alone in the cargo bay, after losing Sam. Wanting nothing more now, than to find some private place, and greave; howl his anguish, sob, scream and come completely apart.

Being reminded as well, of the murder he had committed at fourteen. Did the Major somehow know about that? About those ODST’s he killed in the gym? If he did, it certainly seemed that the ancient adage of ‘old sins casting long shadows’ was true.

Instead he blinked his eyes, blinked back the faint prickling itch that warned of tears, and focused on the Major’s words. If he really was the last Spartan left, then it was his duty to represent his fallen brothers and sisters, to do all that he could, until the time when he would ultimately join them. He was unable to completely silence the little hissing, bitter voice, that half wished that would be sooner than later.

His gaze caught Lieutenant McKay’s, and she looked him with those green eyes…eyes that were so much like Linda’s had been.

Yes, sooner, rather than later.

…

‘Horror’ or ‘revulsion’ could not adequately describe or convey what he had seen and experienced since coming to this ring-world hell.

Words like ‘grueling’ or ‘punishing’ didn’t even begin to cover what he’d endured since setting foot here.

He was overwhelmed, engulfed. Feeling like he was drowning under the relentless onslaught. He felt so alone, so vulnerable. A feeling he’d not been able to shake in all the time he’d been here. Reminded of it again, again and _again_.

It was worrisome, it was shameful that he was so weak fighting alone. That almost never, before now, had he ever had to. And then, not like this, or for so long.

His thoughts went to that wound that was Linda. Reflecting on how independent she was…had been…how she, of all of them could function alone, without worry, without fear.

How he longed for it to be over. Just over with. Gone, done…ended. He was reaching the edge of his limit, the end of his reserves…the maximum of his abilities.

The pounding snarl of his rifle, the pinging, tinkling of innumerable brass shells used, along with the cloying, gagging suffocation of Flood-blood, and the endless, numbing killing had nearly worn him to the breaking point.

He forged on, of course, but he felt barely human, more mechanical, and like an automation by the second.

After dispatching yet another combat form team, he crouched behind a support strut, feeding rounds into his shotgun, in an automatic manner. Then, without warning another combat form leaped onto his back, smashing something into his helmet. His shield dropped away from the force of the blow, allowing an infection form to land on his visor.

He staggered under the impact, struggling to get to his feet, as he pawed uselessly at the form’s slick body. A penetrator punched its way through his neck seal, locating his bare skin, and sliced it open.

John cried out in pain, and in panic, as he felt the tentacle slide down toward his spine. This was it. Over. He was dead…worse than dead. Images of Captain Keyes as part of the amalgamated Flood form assaulted and tormented him. Death, any other death would be better than being forced to ‘live’ like that, in some hellish dual state.

Cortana however, had other plans for John, ones that didn’t involve him becoming part of some mindless, or perhaps, multi-minded abomination. Though unable to physically wield a weapon, and kill the horrible probing pod directly, Cortana had other resources, which she rushed to use.

Diverting a carefully calculated amount of power from the Mjolner, she created an electrical discharge, disrupting the tentacle from synching with John’s electrical system, and seizing control,

The infection form vibrated, as the charge coursed through it. John jerked sharply, as the jolt went through his nervous system. The pod popped, misting his visor in green spatter.

His visor wasn’t so misted that he couldn’t fight however, and he did, snapping back into that automatic kill or be killed mode; riddling the still lumbering combat form with a burst of bullets, shredding it.

“Sorry about that,’’ Cortana said, as John paused to reload, his head still swivelling about, forcing his fatigue aside, determined not to let something like that happen again…

And yet…

That distant, but not distant enough craving for death whispered, beckoned to him.

‘’You did fine.’’ He grunted, ‘’that was close.’’

Eliminating several more targets, there was finally a lull long enough that he dared pause and remove his helmet, and pull the penetrator from under his skin. Slapping an adhesive antiseptic dressing to the throbbing wound, he carefully replaced his helmet, and sealed his suit, trying not to wince. It really hurt like hell.

The quiet moment brought the lingering thoughts, the saturnine desires, and bitter ironies. Saved again, mocked it seemed, by his luck that would insist on his survival; on making him live, while all those who had mattered to him were denied such a privilege.

Gathering his shredding nerves, and banishing his pain and panic away to some far corner (though with what he had endured recently, those corners were getting pretty full) he checked his rifle, ammo supply, and dwindling selection of other armaments. Rising, he squared himself, bracing, committing to finishing the fight.

Spark had to be stopped, the Flood could not be allowed to leave the ring, and if managing to achieve that, with breath still entering and exiting his body, and all limbs accounted for, and some shred of a mind left, he had a duty to find a way off for himself and by connection, Cortana. The knowledge she had amassed was important, invaluable perhaps; hopefully a means for turning things finally in the UNSC’s favor.

 As well of course, continue to fight, no matter what. The next phase of which, was to destroy the _Autumn_ , by overheating her engines, thus, as Cortana planned, destroying the Halo, and everything, and everyone on it.

_Easy…_

…

He had to ask…it was futile, but he _had_ to ask.

‘’Did anyone else make it?’’ his voice sounded firm, like it always did. But somehow in his own ears, in his mind he sounded _tired_ …worse than tired; empty, broken in way that would never be fixed. A shell that would still keep going, alone, until drawing its last breath.

He wondered absently if Cortana could see through his falsely steady tone.

‘’Scanning,’’ came her efficient voice from the Longsword’s controls; data scrolling across the main terminal as she thought, and analyzed.

He waited, watching the last semi intact pieces of twisting, tearing material that had for tens of thousands of millennia, and up until moments ago, been the great ring, the mystical, deadly, Halo. As he watched, he found himself thinking not about the horror he had lived through, or even about the mystery of the ring, or the ghastly Flood; instead he found his thoughts settling on Melissa McKay’s steady  green eyes.

Green eyes, so much like _her_ eyes.

He was glad that Cortana was not interfaced with him at the moment, as he blinked back  unwanted tears.

Within seconds Cortana’s voice broke the silence, shaking him away from his hollow thoughts. Her tone this time though, was devoid of its normal efficiency. Rather it was quite, almost subdued, as she nearly whispered: ‘’Just dust and echoes. We’re all that’s left.’’

John winced mentally. He’d known the answer before he’d asked. But somehow hearing it confirmed was like ripping the scab from wound…a wound that had not had time to even stop bleeding completely.

Keyes, and all the rest of them. Dead. Dead like Linda, and all the other children, the ‘siblings’ he’d been raised with. All dead—just like a part of himself.

Then Cortana was speaking again, her soft tone gone. This time she spoke like she had to justify what had happened. Clipped, efficient words. ‘’We did what we had to do—for Earth. An entire Covenant armada obliterated. And the Flood—we had no choice. Halo, it’s finished.’’

He knew this. She was right of course, there was no need for her to tell him. But facts or not, it didn’t change the _fact_ of the losses they’d suffered. That _he’d_ suffered. He bit his lip, stifling any desire for a biting retort. She was only trying to help. They had achieved a lot; the index was safe, the Flood was destroyed…at least he hoped…The Covenant had been dealt a heavy blow, and that infuriating, lying construct, styling itself as Guilty Spark had been thwarted as well.

John released the seals on his helmet, listening as they made a faint hiss. Slowly he pulled it off, setting it in his lap, before rubbing a weary hand over his sweat dampened hair.

Yes, they had some victories, but for him, for right now, in his mentally and emotionally ravaged state, it felt like nothing…or at least, far too little.

And as for Cortana’s sentiments of it being _‘finished_ …’ he could only smirk bitterly…

‘’No,’’ he sighed heavily, with an exhaustion and emptiness he’d never felt before. “We’re only getting started.’’

 


	17. Dust and Echos...and a Glimmer of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, once again...I apologize for the wait. I PROMISE that there will never be an update gap of this long again. Thank you, those of you who have bookmarked, for staying with me! (And all who have read!) 
> 
> (Also, this chapter has pieces of Eric Nylund's book ''First Strike'' sewn into it. Much like the bits of William Dietz's ''The Flood'' I used from last chapter; in each case I've put my own spin on the original content, and mixed it with my own work. Anyway...I thought I ought to mention it, so no one yells at me for stealing, which I have no intention of doing. Merely playing, instead, with the concepts presented in their works.) 
> 
> L

 

 

 

The gas giant planet Threshold and its small, half-shadowed moon Basis presided over the newly formed breakage that had appeared in their once largely empty system, as if coldly offended by the clutter that had once been contained in a neat, if strange ring.

 _‘’Just dust and echoes…we’re all that’s left…’’_ Cortana’s words of moments ago continued to chase in haunting circles through John’s mind.

Certainly as he gazed out at the plethora of wreckage it was certainly easy to believe her; yet at the same time, he just couldn’t.

Never before in his life, at least since _this_ had become his life, had he been one to not accept things, to not accept facts as facts; but somehow, at the moment, he couldn’t quite believe that there had been a time when he would have functioned in such a mechanical way.

So, now, at this moment, his mind and body pushed well beyond the limits of endurance, sitting in the too small seat of the dismally lonely and underequipped Longsword, floating in a debris field of epic proportions, facts were not something he could face or accept.

It was because of this state of mind that they were arguing.

Cortana was an entity extraordinary, a _fact_ he would never deny. She was also never wrong. Well, almost never. Not that _she’d_ ever admit that.

But this time, in this case, he felt that she was. Or perhaps, _knew_ that she was…or maybe merely would not accept that she _was_ right, and that he was being stubborn.

Whatever it was, he simply could not accept them; himself, and her, being the sole survivors of the abominable ring. There _had_ to be others, some, a couple—I _one_ even—of the _Pillar of Autumn’s_ crew left.

So, he had asked her to scan the ‘dust and echoes’ as she’d put it, again. 

Cortana had always been a little snappy, and prone to sarcasm, and witty, cutting remarks, but this request, to re-perform a task she obviously felt accomplished, brought her the closest thing to being angry he’d ever seen her (other than when she’d thwarted Guilty Spark from deceiving him, and had let both of them have it; Spark, for his insanity-laced lies, and John for his ignorant compliance in the deceitful machines’ plans.)

This time, much like then, the ‘anger’ did not manifest itself through yelling or really any overt show of emotion in the AI; instead it was shown through a deeply frustrated condescension, as she spoke to him like a tiredly annoyed parent, dealing with an unreasonable toddler, who simply could not accept something to be the case.

It might actually have been better if she’d just yelled to show her displeasure. Since her patronising demeanour was very nettling to his thinly stained nerves.

He listened with building annoyance to her explanations. Half wondering if interfacing with the Halo had somehow diminished her reasoning abilities. She’d not been quite the same since.

Reining himself in, forcing a measure of calm, he tried to reiterate his point for the need of a more in- depth scan.

‘’We have no Slipspace drive, and limited air, food and water.’’ Said John as calmly as possible, ‘’because we need all these things to be of any further use to anyone, scan again.’’

Cortana’s tiny hologram folded her arms across her chest, regarding the Spartan a moment. His use of the word ‘ _we’_ was touching. Softening her attitude a little; especially as the items that ‘they’ needed were only things _he_ needed, and she knew it.

However, she wouldn’t let him off that easily. She hated being wrong, or outthought, even by him, or maybe _especially_ by him.

‘’If I perform an active scan, covering each piece of debris in this field,’’ she gestured out to the masses of lightly tumbling detritus suspended in the void, ‘’it will take more than two weeks.’’

Folding her arms tightly again, she gave him a superior look, her lips lightly pursed.

John sighed, ‘’and if you don’t at least try, to find some other ship, or something we can use, we’re dead, either way. So, please scan.’’

Cortana sighed explosively, her avatar vanishing in a shimmer as she went to work.

Seconds later, her voice returned to the small space.

‘’That echo that seemed to be coming from around the side of Basis, well it’s louder…’’

John bit the inside of his cheek, knowing he shouldn’t ask…not even needing to…

‘’Meaning…?’’

‘’Meaning that is isn’t an echo.’’

John quickly replaced his helmet, and sealed his suit. Of course it couldn’t have just been an echo. Why let things be easy?

As if on cue, sleek Covenant cruisers glided into view: one, two, three…then three more.

‘’Have they spotted us?’’ John asked, aware of the faint snap in his tone. One he regretted, but felt too strained to help.

‘’I don’t think so…’’ replied Cortana, her voice sounding faintly distracted, which was almost as worrying as the prowling ships; looking more sinister than sharks, out to find their next meal.

‘’Power all the systems down. Everything but what you need to keep functioning…’’ Came his next clipped order. His eyes glued to the patrolling ships, his fingers stiff and ready over the controls; which was a somewhat foolish gesture, as Cortana had control, and would likely—as much as he was loath to admit it—do a better job.

Besides, even he didn’t fancy his chances in only a Longsword.

The voice that spoke now was oddly bland, as though with less power the AI’s personality became more procedural and free of spunk; which, as much as he normally enjoyed it, or had grown to do so, he could do without at the moment.

‘’I’ve found something…’’ she was saying now, drawing his attention to the small screen, where she’d highlighted a shape in the innumerable rubble.

John felt a clenching sensation grip at his heart, instantly recognizing the shape to be that of the profile view of a cryotube.

He glanced between its lazily rotating form to that of the ever nearing Covenant ship, prowling for prey. Well, one thing was for sure, he was going to get to it first. The thought came to him instantly, and just as rapidly came the reminding, admonishing thought of how crazy said action would be. Attracting attention to themselves—sooner than was all but inevitable-- in a situation like this was the last thing they needed.

Nevertheless, his irrational side won out. Besides, as he watched the tube rotate, a vivid, but fleeting memory stung at him…one of porcelain skin, soft full lips, and vibrant green eyes….

If there was _any_ chance…of that tube holding Linda…

‘’Have they spotted it yet? Or us?’’ John asked, his hands still uselessly tense over the controls, his voice sounding unnaturally hoarse even in his own ears.

‘’I don’t think so…’’ came Cortana’s flat reply, her voice seeming preoccupied. _Good, hopefully scanning for something we can use!’_

‘’I’ve found something else,’’ said Cortana, her tone seemed a little sour, like she was loath to share it. Intrigued despite the mounting desperation of their situation, John looked intently at the screen, and the shape she’d highlighted on it.

A tired smile half pulled at his mouth. The shape was that of what could only be a Pelican’s wing.

He was too worn to feel smug, or even vindicated, it was more a sense of relief, that there _were_ other survivors, and therefore hope. Besides, a Pelican might last a little longer against the closing cruisers, though in the long run, would be just as useless as the Longsword, since it did not possess a Slipspace drive either. Meaning he still had to come up with some other brilliant plan—and the sooner the better—for getting out of this system.  

‘’It probably just crashed there.’’ Cortana was saying, interrupting his thoughts, as she compared the protruding wing with that of the standard UNSC craft, making a perfect match.

‘’No,’’ replied John, ‘’if it had simply crashed it would not be poised in a takeoff position.’’

There was silence for a moment, as Cortana, hopefully, swallowed her pride.

As interested in the Pelican, and its potential passengers, as he was, his most pressing interest was the tube, or maybe tubes.

‘’We need to get to that cryotube before they do.’’ He reminded her.

There was a long pause then, before Cortana replied, her tone even and cool and suddenly more cooperative.

‘’I think I can get us there, but to do it before they notice, using only the docking thrusters will be tricky. But…I _can_ do it. Hold on though.’’ She added, as the ship began to turn slowly in the direction of the tube.

John took another quick look at the prowling cruisers, relieved that they hadn’t seemed to notice yet, before he moved aft, and firmly braced himself, already beginning to grasp what the clever AI had in mind, and silently commending her for it.

Cortana opened the hatch, there was an explosive sound as atmosphere vented; the Longsword lurched forward; ‘’Adjusting course. ETA two minutes,’’ Cortana informed him calmly.

‘’How are we going to stop?’’

Cortana sighed, ‘’do I have to think of everything?’’ she teased, as the aft hatch resealed, and there was a hiss as the internal compartment re pressurized, slowing the small craft.

Inevitably, even without the use of the engine drives, Cortana’s maneuver had attracted the attention of the hunting cruiser; John watched, sighing inside, as it paused, then slowly began to turn in their direction.

‘’The intensity of scanning has increased,’’ Cortana informed him, faint worry in her tone. ‘’I’ll attempt to jam their scanners, it might buy more time.’’

They were sitting ducks. Of the few armaments available, none would be ready to use before they’d been reduced to slag; but they still had to try, and he still had to get to those pods.

The cruiser slowly turned away, and John felt himself relax slightly, thankful that for now, they seemed to still have a little more time.

He attached a tether to his suit and then to the bulkhead of the Longsword. Cortana opened the hatch and after another bracing decompression, he launched gently into weightlessness.

John knew he’d have only one shot; maneuvering himself in the insubstantial void, drifting purposely, making subtle adjustments to keep on course. Trying desperately to rid himself of panic, noticing the cruiser once again begin to turn, seeming to be decidedly interested in them now.

As he drew closer to the tube he realized to his horror that he wasn’t as on target as he would have wanted, and had attempted to be. He also noticed as he drew closer than what he thought was one tube, was actually three. This revelation both made his heart sink and rise in equal measure. It sunk because it would now be a more awkward thing to maneuver in an already complicated situation; it rose because it meant a slightly better chance of Linda being in one…

Again attempting to adjust his approach, for the best it could be, he extended his arm, reaching, stretching in vain _. I’m going to miss…_ He thought with mixed anger and sinking dismay; while still reaching, straining, willing his fingers to make contact.

Then, at last, the hard fingertips of his gauntleted hand scraped against the sleek tube. But fight though he did, he failed to get purchase, and with a falling, yet pounding heart, he willed his fingers to somehow extend, practically feeling muscles and tendons tear with the effort.

At last though, when it seemed too late, he managed to close his hand over the edge of the last ones frame, getting a firm grip.

Without a second to spare, he swung his body inward, landing on the pod; he looped the tether through the frame, securing himself, to them, and then began to hastily pull the combined weight back to the idle Longsword, just as Cortana’s voice crackled in his ear, decidedly laced with worry; ‘’Hurry, we’ve got trouble.’’ She urged.

The ‘trouble’ quickly made itself clear, in the form of the Covenant cruisers engines flaring as they began to move in. The plasma weapons along their hulls warming from red to orange as they readied to fire.

John cursed softly to himself, pulling as quickly as he could, while still remaining braced and controlled, in order to not lose control in the precarious zero-gee environment.

The Longsword would be helpless and stationary until he was back onboard, and Cortana couldn’t use the few armaments available either, until then.

With the cruisers closing, John calculated the time he had left, and didn’t like his conclusions. Then, unexpectedly, the Pelican launched itself from its hiding place, and began to fire at the oncoming cruiser. And while the missiles did little than cause a distraction, it was enough.

With the Covenant ships distracted by the antagonizing Pelican, (seeming to prefer chasing live prey to the stationary Longsword) John gave a final, powerful tug, tumbling into the Longsword, as Cortana sealed the hatch, and fired the engines.

Once back in the relative safety of the small ship, John quickly seated himself, or tried to, in the pilot’s seat.

‘’Whoever’s flying that Pelican certainly knows what they’re doing.’’ Commented Cortana, her voice genuinely impressed, as they watched the sturdy craft weave and dodge, eluding the cruisers.

‘’Good.’’ John remarked, ‘’hail them,’’ he added, ‘’we’re going to need all the help we can get to get out of this mess.’’

‘’I’m on it.’’ replied Cortana crisply (restored to full function, needing all her wits and wiles about her.) ‘’Oh, and you better let me do to driving,’’ she added, with flirty condescension. John smiled inwardly then overrode the controls, giving her total control. He tightened the harness around himself, anticipating a less than smooth—though no doubt safer than he’d manage under the circumstances—ride.

As Cortana attempted to hail the Pelican, John kept his gaze fixed on the small ship, still daringly engaging the lumbering, though deadly cruisers. She was right; whoever was flying was one hell of a pilot. But it was something else that caught his attention then, making a small smile pull at the corners of his lips.

When the Covenant craft had first emerged from the shadow of Basis, he had of course noticed what seemed to be a flagship with the other smaller cruisers, but in the subsequent stresses he’d not paid it the attention he ought to. Well, now it had his full attention, and an idea was quickly (finally) blooming in his mind: a crazy plan, an impossible plan, but a plan—perhaps the only one that would actually work—nonetheless.

And the first step of its success lay in the survival of that Pelican, and her crew.

So it was with a sense of relief when a voice answered over the com. A woman identifying herself as warrant officer Sheila Polaski—who, with unidentified others—claimed to be relieved to hear John’s voice, and know he had survived too.

John gave brief instructions to her, to head for the relative safety of the moon Basis; then gave Cortana instructions to maneuver the Longsword to dock over the Pelican’s top hatch. He could sense slight hesitation, and hear unasked questions from all parties involved, but there was simply no time to explain further at the moment. His plan was rapidly falling into place, and was, essentially already past the point of no return. He had committed them all now, and they’d just have to—hopefully—trust him.

There really weren’t any other choices, or options. As he saw it, either they’d take the risk he’d offer, with the off chance they might survive, or they’d not; hastening their collective deaths, and fall to a combination of exhausted resources of fuel, air and munitions, and Covenant wrath.

After some (truly brilliant) but extremely uncomfortable, and daring flying curtesy of Cortana, the Longsword came to dock atop the Pelican, and John once more unclipped his harness and moved aft to meet the Pelican’s survivors.

His carefully restrained excitement faded however, as the first person he pulled up into the Longsword’s small bay was someone who ought to be dead. Someone he’d seen die, via a video feed. Seen engulfed, along with everyone else in his group, by Flood infection forms…

One moment Sergeant Avery Johnson found himself being helped through the small hatch, the next moment he was being pinned to the wall by an unyielding Spartan.

‘’Nice to see you too, Chief,’’ he muttered with a little difficulty, due to the powerful hand gripped about his neck.

A silent second or two ticked by, in which he stayed inert, arms loose by his sides, but looking a little defiantly up at the gold visor. Though, on his lips were the traces of a bemused smile.

‘’Really not quite the welcome I expected…’’ he continued, trying to lighten the mood, discern the Chief’s actions.

‘’I saw you die…’’ John murmured at last, his tone bearing a distinctly cold, suspicious edge. His indignation deepening when the dark skinned man gave him a cheeky, almost cocky grin, revealing brilliant white teeth; ‘’Aw, c’mon Chief, it takes more than a bunch of walking horror-show freaks to get rid of Sergeant Avery Johnson! They mustn’t have liked how I tasted I guess…’’ he added with indifferent reflection.

‘’The Flood doesn’t ‘ _taste’_ anything.’’ Remarked Cortana, ‘’they merely mindlessly and undiscerningly absorb any organism with brainwaves and a nervous system. Stripping out knowledge and then discard their victim, or puppet them, whichever is more useful to them at the time.’’

‘’So, you think I’m infected?’’ Asked Johnson, looking up at John’s visor, then toward the bulkhead, in response to Cortana’s disembodied voice.

‘’Yes,’’ growled the Spartan, his grip increasing slightly. ‘’Well,’’ Cortana reflected, ‘’yes, you _should_ be…I really can’t say why you seem not to be, but you’re not. At least from the few tests I’ve just preformed.’’

Knowing that time was wasting, and that they could not afford to waste more, John unhappily, and skeptically released his grip from the Marine’s neck, and turned to watch the next three people (who had been waiting tensely) climb up into the Longsword from the Pelican, as Cortana continued to operate both ships, flying in their unlikely configuration. He’d just have to trust Cortana’s conclusions, and worry about the whys later.

John quickly looked the other two men and the one woman over, trying to get a hasty idea of their personalities, and how he’d best utilize them.

The first, a Lieutenant E. Haverson, of ONI (which John found strange…what was ONI doing on a mission like this..? Well, the original mission, before the crash on the Halo) had slightly wavy gingery hair and a fair number of freckles over his pale cheeks. He looked a little rumpled, but had a steely determination in his clear blue eyes. John anticipated the only issue being his rank, otherwise he seemed like he’d be generally alright to get on with. Certainly he didn’t seem scared, which was a huge plus.

The next man was a young ODST with a shaved head, and a distinctly wild look his eyes; John watched as they rolled about, taking in his surrounding as though he expected a Jackal sniper to be lurking in the shadows of the tiny bay. John frowned slightly, the man’s energy was erratic, and when his eyes came at last to firmly rest on the Spartan, his mumbled, ‘’Great, a _Spartan_. Out of the fucking frying pan and into the fire…’’ Confirmed what the Chief had already concluded about him in the few seconds he’d looked him over.

The last of course, was the pilot, Sheila Polaski. For her small size, and mild appearance she broadcasted a toughness and determination which was both refreshing and encouraging.   

Well, thought John, he would just have to make the best of them, and hope that his quick conclusions of Haverson and Polaski proved true; and that he’d be able to make the best of Locklear the ODST.

‘’So, what’s the plan then?’’ Asked Locklear, glaring at the John, then glancing toward Haverson, then back to John. ‘’I assume you _do_ have one?’’ He pushed with a slight sneer in his tone.

‘’Yes,’’ replied John simply. He knew it would sound crazy. Maybe it was. Maybe this would be nothing more than a Light Brigade-esque, final desperate act…

But they had to do _something_. And what was the point of being a Spartan if you didn’t at least _attempt_ to make the impossible possible. 

Despite his losses, his failures, there had always been a way out, at least for him. And he was determined that that be the case again…

Determined as well, as always really, to make sure as many as possible made it along with him. It was because of both of these reasons that he was willing to take this risk. It was really the only remaining option. If it failed, they would all likely be dead, but if they didn’t try, they would be anyway.

He quickly explained the plan to the survivors, and a slightly skeptical Cortana:

Slingshot around Basis, and provided they weren’t hit upon reappearing, use the Pelican remotely as bate, and then—aboard the Longsword—get within the minimum rage of fire of the flagship; banking on the other Covenant craft to not fire on their own vessel, especially one so important; and then land in the hanger bay, and take the ship for their own.

Haverson was somewhat resistant at first—both to the plan and to John being in charge—but quickly realized that there was really no other way; as well as having the humility to dean that he really was somewhat useless in a combat situation like this, and so it would only be logical for the Chief to be in charge.

Locklear was also resistant, not to the plan, but to accepting John’s leadership. It was plain from the few moments they’d been together he’d been one of Silva’s boys, or at least subscribed to that frame of thinking.

In another time and place, John might have been more tactful, more politically correct, in dealing with both Halverson and Locklear—or in this case ‘militarily correct’ but the fact was, his patience was basically gone, and time had run out. So, he’d firmly and without question asserted himself to the young Corporal, leaving no doubt of his authority over the mission. And weather he hated him or not, he was still to obey him. The younger man had grudgingly backed down, and a brittle understanding was reached.

Sergeant Johnson had thankfully been supportive of both the plan and of his leadership role. And whatever lingering doubts or worries John had about his possibly infectious state could wait. He needed him for support as the second most experienced member of their little rag tag group. The Sergeant had also added his own two cents in the effort of putting Locklear in his place; an act for which John was silently grateful—let Marines look after Marines.

Polaski had been a little tentative, but had agreed in the end. Seeming to mostly object to the sacrifice of her Pelican; a sentiment John could half understand, certainly, despite her quirks and occasionally annoying behaviors, he’d be devastated to lose Cortana. She’d become such a vital part of his effectiveness…his life.

So, with the plan settled, and everyone agreeing to work together, it was time to see if he could pull off the impossible; redeem himself as well as his luck somehow, and bring all of them through this.

However he thought he was likely being optimistic to the point of delusion at his desire.

…

As he’d predicted, landing in…or _crashing_ in the flagship had been the easy part, the real fight took place on board. But, despite his motley group, they managed to complete the task with no loss of life. Just another searing wound to add to his collection, from an irate Elite on the bridge who had not had the courtesy to die quickly; instead making a valiant attempt to saw his arm off as they’d grappled.

Then, as if that all hadn’t been enough, some Grunt, or likely many, had tried to knobble the engines, an act but for the inherent usefulness of several Engineers, and Cortana’s brilliance would have meant certain death, and an utter waste of their bold attack.

So, now in the relative ‘safety’ and lull of Slipspace, John found his thoughts drifting…

He could only attribute his desire to retrieve the cryotubes being so strong as a subconscious impulse, to somehow find Linda. Certainly the memory of her had not left him during his grueling fight on the Halo. He’d longed for her presence, both as a support, and as a comfort.

While at the same time—feeling the still dully twinging wound in his neck from the infection form’s tentacle—it chilled him to the bone to think what might have, could easily have befallen her there. Unwanted his mind quickly conjured up images and memories of the grossly abused and mutated bodies of UNSC personnel he’d seen.

So, had she been luckier then, floating ‘safe’ above all the torture below? Likely dead, but in a way that was free of being some monstrous puppet to a mindless killing horror.

Johnson’s excited voice over the coms had confirmed his risk, the choice, had been a justified one. A _lucky_ one.

_‘’…it’s one of the cryotubes you recovered…Chief, there’s a Spartan in it,’’_

Through the whole daring operation to take the cruiser, the three tubes residing in the battered Longsword had pressed at the edges of his thoughts. He was half-terrified to know _who_ was in them, and who was _not_.

There had been many crew, most still in cryo at the time of attack, and subsequent crash; presumably as many as possible had been jettisoned free of the ship before it had made its desperate landing. So, knowing that, and he did, the tubes could contain any of those who had been aboard the _Autumn_.

Certainly he had been glad to take the risk of saving any human life, regardless, and would have repeated the action in a heartbeat. But to be completely honest with himself, he had made the gamble in the chance that it was her…

So when he’d heard Johnson’s voice confirming it…

Steeling himself for the worst, he’d made his way down to the hanger bay. It was time to face facts.

…

Yes, it had been a Spartan.

Linda 058.

John slowly wiped the slight film of ice off the front of the cryotube, over where Linda’s head was. Her helmet’s visor mirrored back at him.

Foolishly he still held out hope; hope that she’d been frozen quick enough, that some part of her clung to life…somewhere, somehow…

He could feel the weight of her burned, limp body in his arms, like it had been moments ago, as he’d rushed her to this very cryotube.

He would give anything to see her face one last time: to look into those clear green eyes, to see that smile that was usually reserved for only him. To hear her steady, cool voice…or her rare laugh.

Seeing her like this, in this state of uncertainty, felt like a raw, aching wound in his chest. Like his heart had been torn from him, but he’d been made to keep living, keep enduring.

It was really miraculous that she’d made it, that she’d not been impacted by the debris, that her tube had maintained power, when those of the other two poor souls had failed, leaving them to die icy deaths…And most of all, that he had just _happened_ to be near, to scoop the floating tubes, her tube, up.

But was it all for naught? All a torment? To have ‘saved’ her, only to be faced with losing her all over again; when the fact finally would sink in, that despite the ‘miracle’ she was still gone…

His gauntleted fingers rested helplessly against the frosty window. He leant his head forward, until his helmet contacted with a dull clunk against the barrier.

John gazed at the impenetrable golden visor, until the image wobbled; he let his eyelids sweep shut, felt the hot trails of moisture run down his cheeks, then drip with a soft plunk against the inside of his visor; drowning in renewed grief.

Memories and feelings flooded his thoughts, flashing by like falling leaves:

Linda meeting his eyes, that first morning in the showers.

Linda soaked in sweat, her long red ponytail flapping, being made to do extra exercise as punishment for her kindness to him.

Linda smiling weakly at him as he assured her that her hair didn’t look so bad shaved.

Linda putting her hand on his arm, before their training mission against Tango Company commenced, with worry in her emerald eyes, admonishing him to be careful.

Linda running joyfully toward him at the conclusion of the successful exercise, her cheeks flushed, and eyes shining.

Linda in the locker room, nodding shyly at him, as his hands cupped her breasts.

Linda sighing softly as their lips met for the first time.

Linda kissing his back in the shower, after showing him the pleasures of sex.

Linda assuring him, after he’d fumbled through her first time.

Linda looking over her shoulder at him, in the little clearing on Reach, under the spring blossoms.

Linda looking at him gauntly, with hollow eyes and waxy skin after augmentation…whispering ‘nothing will be the same’

Linda with shining, scarlet blood running down her face, after Kelly’s attack.

Linda rising beside him, to give suppressing fire, as they escaped the Insurrectionist base in 2531, on their first mission with Kurt 051.

Linda looking at him with blank, yet hurt eyes, as he assigned her to lead Green team; silently dismissing her from his side.

Linda asking him, if they’d ‘won’ as the life ebbed from her body on Gamma Station, while Reach burned below them.

_Linda, Linda, Linda…_

He could hardly breathe, as he tried to swallow down the lump aching in the back of his throat. Trying to ignore the constricted, throbbing feeling in his chest…

So entangled in his pain, and in the enticing, yet agonizing recollections, he failed to hear his heartache about to be intruded upon. Johnson’s sudden knock in the side of the Longsword brought him sharply back to reality, and out of his bittersweet memories.

He rose, trying to bring himself back to focus on the tasks at hand; but was unable to stop himself from glancing back at Linda, entombed in her cryotube. The lump refusing to entirely vacate his throat.

They looked at each other a moment; at least John looked at the Sergeant; the Sergeant only got to look at his own reflection in the inscrutable golden visor.

Finally, after a couple more seconds went by, Avery, seeming to read the Spartan’s mind, allowed his lips to pull into a reassuring smile, as he looked away from the faceplate, and gestured at Linda in her icy bed.

‘’Don’t you worry about her; hell, I’ve been hit worse and she’s three times the soldier I am. She’ll pull through,’’ Johnson had cheerily assured him.

John looked over at the Sergeant without comment.  

Why did they lie to each other? Why could they face their own death, but not those of their friends and comrades?

Whatever the reason…it was true.

John could not accept Linda being dead.

He at last allowed himself to speak, agreeing vaguely with the Marine; the lie was easier to bear for now.

…

The decision to go back to Reach had been an obvious one; and despite some resistance and discussion, which leaned more in the direction of argument, the result ended up in the affirmative to return to the besieged and ruined planet.

The original mission that had been set them, well, _him_ , was, after a fashion accomplished; a Covenant cruiser had been captured. Even if the path to get to that point had been anything but smooth, or according to plan; however this consideration was ranking low in the pile for John. Reach; returning to Reach, to Blue team, that was what mattered most to him…

He had to know, for better, but likely worse, what had happened. If any of them where left. A false, dull hope flickered fitfully, as he salved himself with the notion that since Johnson, and Polaski and the others had made it, then maybe…just _maybe_ …Spartans would have more chance, despite how bleak the reality seemed.

…

Cortana listened to the six notes. She was puzzled, then infuriated. There had been simply too many things lately that had left her feeling this way.

She was too _full_ ; saturated and bloated with information, and it was slowing her down. And if there was anything she couldn’t stand, it was being slow, and not being able to instantly comprehend things.

Flummoxed, she carefully dredged through her archives, searching for something to make sense of the silly little notes.

At last, after a completely unacceptable ten seconds searching, she found ‘remembered’ an obscure little snippet from a children’s game, dating back to the 15th century, over a thousand years ago. Some silly little tune that would signal the all clear.

Having honed in on its likely origin, but still being no closer really to understanding any correlating significance, she played it for the assembled humans, watching the puzzlement on all of their faces, all but the Chief that is. His posture stiffened, albeit subtly, but clear as day to her sharp eyes.

_Olly olly oxen free…_

John swallowed hard against a sudden, unbidden upwelling of emotion. It was a sign, it _had_ to be. There were Spartan’s left on Reach; Clever Spartan’s who were still alive, and who he would get to if it was the last thing he did; if it meant his life for theirs. It was the least he could do…after sending them to their nearly certain—and certainly for some—deaths.

‘Irrational’ was never a word she would have attributed to the Chief. Well at least, not before the last few ‘days.’  Besides, she had to grudgingly admit, it had been a brilliant plan to take the cruiser in the end.

But this development was insane.

The way he’d reacted when she’d played him the inane signal. He’d been like a man transfixed, filled with an almost fevered determination.

Sure, it was probably only natural to want, or need to go back and see what, if anything was left of Reach…which from this distance it seemed to be precious little to nothing, but upon hearing those notes, to now be basically demanding to go to the surface was utterly bewildering.

Nevertheless, after minor argument with the others, they agreed. And, with Polaski piloting (and very skillfully too, Cortana reflected with admiration at the woman’s skills) one of the Covenant dropships from the hanger bay, they’d gone to see what was left, and to locate the Spartan’s which John claimed, (due only, and entirely to those daft little notes) were still alive.

…

It wasn’t like it was new, or something he’d never seen before. Far from it in fact; all too many times had he been witness to these landscapes of destruction and ruin. But this was so much more personal. He may have been born on Eridanus, and lived his early, all but forgotten years there, but Reach, was his home, the world he’d grown up on, had memories of.

So, to see it like this, in a brutalized, agonized state…with literally every direction he looked in unrecognizable, it was a hard blow to absorb.

It was yet another thing he’d failed to save; another thing—of the oh so precious few things with some good association—to be stripped away from his life, his soul.          

With a heavy exhalation, he closed his eyes against the bleakness and despaired landscape for a moment and firmly got himself under control. It wouldn’t do to come apart now. He had to just keep going, like always. Stopping meant a sure and sudden risk of drowning in it all…being overwhelmed by the tsunami of pain and loss that seemed to always be lapping at his heels.

All he could do now, was pick up the pieces of what was left; collect the remaining, surviving sibs—who simply _had_ to be alive—and carry on.

…

While the shore party were off on their—in Cortana’s opinion—impractical mission, she kept herself and the Engineers busy. Secluded away in the Oort cloud, away from any remaining Covenant ships that were on the prowl, she set about instructing the eager Huragok in the task of attaching the salvaged UNSC ship _Gettysburg_ to the stolen Covenant flagship, in what was doubtless a grotesque hybrid. But she felt that at this point, they couldn’t have too many resources. Besides, she’d needed something else to occupy her time, while she tried not to worry, and attempted to analyze the masses of data sorted in her matrix.

…

So their mighty leader had returned. Swooping down like some kind of god, right in the moment of need. Whisking them all—Halsey, Will, Kelly (who’d nearly been burned to death curtesy of a Hunter’s plasma cannon and still seemed like she might die) Admiral Whitcomb, Li, Anton, Grace and himself—to ‘safety.’

A safety which of course in normal, almost predictable fashion, had been anything but.

In the end though, they had made it away, but not before paying for it with the lives of Li, Anton and Polaski, and very nearly John as well. He was still recovering in the infirmary.

The main problem though, that Fred had had with John’s reappearance was the fact that he’d been _alone_.

Well, at least he’d been without Linda. A fact that had both filled him with uncharacteristic, nearly blinding rage, and a chilling, suffocating hopelessness.

Her absence could only mean one thing: Linda was dead.

He’d forgiven John many things in his life, in their lives together—things that weren’t necessarily John’s fault, but had nevertheless been attributed to him, or because of him, at least by Fred’s subconscious— but _this_ …

Rationally, (for of course, rational remained despite his battling emotions)—he knew it was a fact, a reality of what they were. Spartan’s died. Hadn’t that been all too appallingly clear, especially of late? With so many gone…nearly all, lost on Reach, or in the attempt to flee…

Yes, Spartan’s certainly died, and, despite the UNSC’s trite propaganda, when they died, they were _dead_. Not some romantic notion of being eternally ‘MIA.’

And now…Linda was gone too…

Sitting alone, in a gloomy corner of the hauntingly empty _Gettysburg_ , Fred sought some much needed decompression from the overwhelming dreadfulness of the last couple of days; but found none. No peace, no calm. He thought with bitterness, of John calling the ground mission the ‘easy’ mission. Figuring in ‘safety’ from the fact that they’d be on the ground; but it had been _getting_ to that ground…

Fred closed his eyes, seeing, feeling that horrible helpless falling, that crash landing he and the others had endured, and died from…lives wasted.

He exhaled slowly, tiredly. He ached everywhere, and in every way; mentally, emotionally, and the less important, less effecting, physically.

His bitterness, his anger quickly withering into despair and grief, as his thoughts moved relentlessly to the worst wound of all; John had taken Linda with him, on the space op, to keep her safe…

 _Safe_ …

He thought of her body in the cryotube. Sleeping an icy sleep, never to wake.

Fred clenched his fists, hardly able to stomach it.

 


	18. Reunion

 

 

 

_‘’She’s fine; Linda will make it. The flash-cloned organs took.’’_

Halsey’s words flooded him with relief. It was the most powerful feeling he’d had in weeks. It even, momentarily canceled out the defeating knowledge Cortana had shared with him upon waking from his injuries—the devastating fact that the Covenant now knew the position of Earth, and were amassing an armada.

He found himself smiling behind his visor; an action that practically made his cheeks ache.

_‘’Thank you.’’_

It had been all he could say to Halsey for her efforts; but it was adequate.

Initially he’d convinced himself that he had far too many things to attend to, to be at Linda’s side when she woke; but the desire continued to nag him, and inhibit his effectiveness to attend to the ’things’ that needed his attention anyway, so, ‘things’ aside, (and since there was nothing really more to do about any of them at the moment) he found himself heading to the med bay.

Besides, what could be more important, really?

He felt his place was at her side, both as comfort, and as a conformation to himself, that this wasn’t some delusional dream brought on from far too little sleep, under relentless stress, finally getting to him. The whole experience had been a huge strain on his carefully controlled emotions.

He’d been so sure that she was dead, despite his best efforts to save her on the station over Reach. Then, for sure, he’d thought she’d been lost after the crash on the Halo. Even after finding her, by some miracle, after destroying the Halo…he’d not felt much hope; at least not _real_ hope, only heartbroken, desperate hope. So now, for Halsey to claim that she’d make it, that she was alright…

...

The med bay was quiet, dim and, obviously empty.

Linda was in a bed near the back of the ward, the only one with a curtain pulled forward, shielding her from immediate view.  

John hesitated for a moment, and then stepped around the curtain; his emotions welling disconcertingly, threatening to break his ridged control, like slipping going down the stairs, and only just being able to catch yourself.

It was then that he realized, with a faintly surprised prickle, that the med bay was not quite empty, and that Linda was not quite alone.

Fred was standing quietly at the foot of her bed. He turned his head toward John, as he stepped around the curtain, remaining silent. Half-resentful at his appearance, but half-relieved that John did at least seem to have his priorities straight.

John, trying to gather his wits, and adjust to this unexpected development, acknowledged Fred’s presence with a nod.

Fred returned the action, but it was impossible for John to tell what he was thinking, what he felt, with his helmet still on.

Slowly, Fred turned, lightly placed his hand on John’s shoulder, his gauntlet making a dull clunk sound, before he walked from the small, white-curtained space, without a word.

John tried to digest this, letting several seconds tick by…He had not been ignorant to Fred’s coldness, but he hadn’t really cottoned on to what the cause might be. Now it began to click into place: he’d been gutted that it seemed Linda was dead. John blinked a couple of times, but his thoughts were too stirred up to make sense of the situation; to try and tease out any more clues, things he might have missed…

So, for the moment, he tried to put it from his mind, turning his attention to Linda.

Her helmet was off, and it was sitting on the seat of a chair beside her bed. He glanced at it, noting the faint char marks, and streaks of black from the plasma bolts; not sure why he cared, or why he was stalling for time, distracting himself from looking at her, which was so ironic, since when she’d been recovered, and Johnson had identified her as a Spartan, and he’d confirmed it was her…seeing her face was what he’d most wanted.

 John released the locks on his own helmet, and slowly pulled it off, setting it beside hers in the chair, noting with a twitch to the corner of his mouth, that other than the black burn marks, it didn’t look much better than hers; battered, the paint worn and chipped, under flecks of dried blood, of all types.

The air smelled of antiseptic, with faint undertones of blood, sweat, smoke and ozone.

It was rather nauseating; the smell of war. He ought to be used to it by now…but then, he rarely smelled it without an air-scrubber in between.

At last, getting a grip on his emotions, and unable to stall any longer, (though he’d not done so for any longer than a minute already) John looked at Linda.

Her face looked deathly pale, but peaceful. He drew closer, until he stood right next to the bed. There were several IV’s and monitors still hooked into her, which was expected. Less expected was the sight of her naked shoulders peeping over the top of the white sheet covering her body; a sheet that hardly made any contrast with her skin tone. Curious, and before he could stop himself, John lifted the edge of the sheet, and then looked away.

She was indeed naked to the waist.

Her white skin was crisscrossed with livid red burn marks, and scars. Her lower abdomen swathed in bandages, two of the IV’s going right to this area.

John settled the sheet back over her, and returned his gaze to her ghostly face.

 It had been a while, since he’d seen her without her helmet; it had been more than two decades since they’d all vanished behind the reflective gold faceplates, more or less, permanently. 

Her cropped hair stood out in sharp contrast against the stark surroundings, like blood on snow. John slowly removed the gauntlet from his right hand, and leaned a little closer, his fingers reached out hesitantly, then brushed against her cheek. It was worryingly cold.

His mouth tightened and he exhaled deeply.

_She was alright, she would make it, Halsey had said so._

But then…he’d heard many such promises before, from doctors and teammates, given to dying men and women. He himself had spoken such words, kneeling beside broken bodies, bleeding out the last moments of their lives.

John looked away, a faint wetness forming in his eyes. He blinked it away, and glanced at the monitor, assured as it beeped away steadily; her heart, respiration and circadian activity all within acceptable parameters. He looked back at her serine face; smooth and remarkably youthful, even though she was approaching forty-two. The snowy skin flawless, except for the thin, pink scar, cut across her right temple.

Her eyes moved beneath their lids; she seemed to be dreaming…seemed to really be alright, to be _alive_. John closed his eyes a moment, opened them,  then, slowly leaned in close to Linda, hesitated, then, placed his lips gently to hers, they, like her cheek, were cold. He kissed her again, softly, then pulled away, the chill of her lips lingered on his.

To his surprise, the corner of Linda’s mouth twitched into a smile, ‘’Chief,’’ she croaked out in a faint whisper, her eyes coming open a crack.

John’s heart was in his throat, and he couldn’t stop the tears this time.

He cupped her cheek, finding it faintly warmer, or maybe he was imagining it. ‘’Linda…Linda…’’ he murmured, voice rougher than normal.

She took a deeper breath, exhaled and opened her eyes half way, looking up into John’s anxious, yet relieved face.

 _Did he really just kiss me?_ Thought Linda distantly.

 _It had been_ so _long._

‘’I’m alright Chief,’’ she whispered weakly. ‘’I’m okay…’’ her sentence was cut off by another kiss, this one more intense, she tried to respond in kind, but it was hard to kiss and smile.

After a couple more kisses, John stopped, and lent his forehead against hers, nuzzling her cheek gently with his nose. Linda felt slightly guilty at the drops of wetness he’d left on her cheeks. She’d caused him so much pain by ‘dying.’

‘’Well I guess you missed me,’’ she whispered beside his ear. Feeling assured by his presence; wanting him to know she really was alright, that she was sorry for dying and causing him distress. There was nothing better she could have woken to, after wandering in that strange in-between place, of neither life nor death.

‘’More than you know,’’ replied John, leaning up on his elbow, placing another soft kiss to her lips. Linda smiled, ‘’you just can’t live without me Chief,’’ she teased weakly; ‘’that’s not a good way to be, if you’re a soldier…isn’t that what we were always taught?’’

‘’No.’’

‘’No?’’

John didn’t answer, his throat was feeling disconcertingly tight again.

Linda sighed, and closed her eyes, ‘’no, I couldn’t live without you either John.’’

Cortana’s voice over the com, requesting John’s presence on the bridge, snapped them both back to reality. John reluctantly stood, and picked up his helmet, looking at Linda one last time before putting it on, ‘’I won’t let…’’ he began, then thought better of adding _‘’ anything happen to you…again’’_ since well, he’d failed to prevent that the first time; he struggled to finish his sentiment; ‘’it’s alright John…I know what you mean. I’ll try my best not to die again, I promise; there was nothing you could have done.’’

John put his helmet on. He never had been good with expressing himself, but over the last thirty years he’d only gotten worse. It was both a relief, and an embarrassment that Linda understood him. But no matter how much she assured him that there was nothing he could have done…he’d never let himself off the hook.

They gazed at each other a moment longer, seeming to say what needed to be said, with a look alone.

‘’You better go,’’ said Linda quietly, ‘’you can fill me in later, about what’s happened since I was…away.’’

 _Away…_ right _._

John polarized his visor, nodded stiffly and clumped out of the med bay. On the ride up in the elevator he got his reeling emotions locked back under control, and his mind almost turned back fully to the task at hand. Though, lurking at the edges, was a faint resentment, which fought with tinges of fear, and a primal longing, that seemed doomed to being eternally eclipsed by duty. 

Linda gazed up at the dull panels of the ceiling, gradually getting her bearings. She stiffly rotated her shoulders, and flexed her arms and hands, wincing as she did so.

Apparently they were no longer on the _Pillar_ _of_ _Autumn_. Apparently a lot had happened in the time she’d been ‘’dead.’’ How long had that been?

Linda shuddered, remembering the scalding burn, melting into her body from the plasma. The pain had been so intense, it actually became numbing, utterly overwhelming. She remembered John at her side, holding her hand; the tone of his voice as she slipped away; she’d asked him something, but she couldn’t remember. He’d answered in that same, devastated, bitter tone…

Then…then…there had been darkness; faint sounds, random thoughts and emotions, distant memories…and sadness.

Linda inched a hand up to her face, slowly feeling it, as if in conformation; her fingertips coming to rest on her lips, she let her eyes shut again, overcome with relentless exhaustion. It had been _years_ since John had kissed her, and she was so glad she’d lived to experience it again; while wondering if there would ever be a time when it would be for as long as they both wanted, and un eclipsed by obligations, and threatened by danger.

…

She’d known she shouldn’t have watched, but she was curious, and being curious was the curse of her kind. She simply could not stifle it, or reject the desire for information, to do so felt like suffocating.

However it was a two-edged sword of sorts, to always follow that urge, since it was not just an endless thirst for knowledge that was somewhat satiated from indulging her curiosity, there were also the consequences of  _feelings_.

As a ‘smart’ AI, she was endowed with the ability to have a semblance of understanding of what it might be like to feel human; she felt anger, frustration, happiness, sadness… _love_ …

Logically of course, she knew she didn’t _really_ possess the ability to feel these things, in the same way that she didn’t really smell things, see things, and was unable to tactilely touch things…

Yet, with a mind like she had…well, that’s all she really was…a mind; she was able, or at least _believed_ that she was, after a fashion, to conjure images, feelings, and scenarios which felt so real…it left her aching (not that _that_ was really possible either.)

It would be a lie, to say that she’d never imagined certain… _possibilities_ …regarding her and John. The attraction she’d felt for him, had been instantaneous; when Dr. Halsey had given her the choice _, ‘’which_ _one do you want?’’_ She’d already known. She’d come knowing it seemed. And she’d only confirmed it to herself, that day in Halsey’s office, as her hands had framed that serious, but handsome face in the picture…making her ‘choice.’ A choice she’d justified to herself, logically, as being one based solely on the innate ‘luck’ John seemed to possess, his uniqueness that resulted, and of course, the compatibility they shared; which she’d calculated to be within two percent.

She knew that at first, it had been a hard adjustment for him, having her presence so close, literally inside his mind. But she’d ingratiated herself as quickly as she could; proving her worth, her skills, her undeniable value; and he’d begun to slowly accept her into his life, opening up, allowing a bond begin to forge between them.

And with that bond…that connection, had come a _hope_ …a ridiculous, impossible hope.

Cortana gazed at Linda’s face via the camera a portion of her processes was currently monitoring through. For a human woman, she was pretty…beautiful really, Cortana supposed.  She compared Linda’s face for symmetry, against perfect examples of women’s faces she had stored in her memories—it fit within a five percent margin for symmetry and other factors which humans deemed attractive.

In another world, in another time and place, with a less athletic, muscular physique, Cortana’s musing thoughts told her Linda would have made a good model.

She studied her rosy lips a moment, recalling with biting sadness how John had kissed her.

Cortana recalled with vivid clarity how he’d cried. How his heartrate had risen, his respiration had become slightly strained…So much _emotion_ , so many human feelings; feelings and responses she’d never seen him exhibit before…

If she died…no… _when_ she died…went rampant…would he cry for her like that?

Cortana quickly filtered through her files, through all the knowledge she had about John. There was nothing new, nothing she’d not noticed or observed…

Then, with a quick scan through his medical files, she observed something odd, which had slipped her notice: a notation from when he’d been thirteen, ordering and authorizing an injectable contraceptive.

Cortana paused for a full second at this revelation, before quickly looking for something else, to add or clarify the seemingly bizarre procedure. Seconds later she found it; a small sub-note, which cross-referenced to SPARTAN 058’s file. 

Breaking through the trivial encryption, she learned that Linda had also received such an injection, on the same day John had, by Halsey’s orders.

 She knew everything about him—or so she’d thought. She’d been his most intimate friend and confidant in the time they’d been together. Yet in all that, there was nothing…not a single mention of his sentiments for Linda; sentiments that had apparently begun decades earlier, in what had obviously been clandestine, but very _intimate_ meetings.

How had she not known, or even guessed about his feeling for this woman? She’d seen them interact several times, on past missions, but there had been nothing… _nothing_ at all, to tell of the deep, emotionally charged connection they shared.

The revelation left Cortana feeling frustrated, hurt and a little foolish. Reminding her sharply of her one limitation: the inability to truly be human.

 


	19. For The Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have neglected this piece for an unacceptable amount of time, and for that, I am sorry. Things in my life for the past few months have been terrible and also extremely busy--in a myriad of ways I will not bore you with--but I am back to writing now. I promise that this piece WILL get finished. Thank you, those of you who have read so far, and left Kudos; and those of you who have bookmarked, thanks for your patience. 
> 
> ALSO:
> 
> Once again I have sewn in pieces of Eric Nylund's 'First Strike' in order to give continuity. So, I've no intention of copying or stealing, merely bridging and making (hopefully) the story flow!

 

 

 

Guilt was never an emotion she’d had much time for. One simply could not afford to indulge in it and hope to get anything done. Especially when something as pressing as the possible annihilation of the entire human race was on the line; when _someone_ had to do whatever it took, had to get their hands dirty to prevent it…no matter what.

 At least that was what she’d always told herself whenever that cloying, choking sensation would rise in her chest; her ‘conscience’—another thing she could scarcely afford—still determined to make her look at her actions…

 But lately, conscience, or perhaps facts—since she could little ignore those—had brought her up short, when with a startling, plummeting realization, she’d come face to face with the reality that there were perhaps only _six_ left…

It had been a thought that had begun back in her lab on Reach, when she had been patching Kelly up, and Kalmiya had found the tag in her (Kelly’s)  file, that had led to some project—apparently another Spartan program—that the treacherous Anderson had been secretly working on. But at the time—under such desperate circumstance as they’d been under—she’d had precious little space of time to think about it…to understand what she herself had begun to realize…

It had taken until she’d been putting Linda back together, recalling her from literal edge of death, that it had finally struck her.

Her Spartans were nearly gone.

All those children…were gone…lost to the ashes of war. Lives spent and departed, never, unlike Linda, to be revived.

John…

Fred…

Linda…

Kelly…

Will…

Grace…

They were all that were left—so far as she knew…

She supposed, trying desperately to swallow against the rising, overwhelming tide of horrified anguish, that there might be as many as five more out there still…

Even so, it was a starling realization. One that had taken her a lifetime to come to…That it wasn’t just about sacrificing one—or in this case thirty-two lives, or rather, seventy-five total—to save many…

Individual life mattered too… _Their_ lives mattered…and they were nearly all gone.

And though those lives had been in many cases, well spent; (save those who had died horribly on the augmentation tables…and the fourteen more, who, though they had lived, were broken, shattered remains of the pictures of perfect health they had once been…) spent in the absolutely vital cause of saving the human race…they were nevertheless, spent… _gone_ …extinguished.

Catharine Halsey’s icy gaze drifted across Linda’s white countenance, and she was assaulted by memories of the solemn-faced little girl, who had been so quiet she was almost introverted; hardly seeming to possess the skills needed to be a soldier, at least personality-wise; but was possessed of a prodigious skill with technology and the ability to hack into systems; of the ability to focus to a nearly mechanical extent, and the fortitude, the self-assurance to operate alone, while still able to function just as well in a team.

 All skills that Linda the woman, retained, and had honed with the passing of the years…

_And how close she had been to death…to joining the others; the ones I could not save. All of them, forged—by me—to die…_

_Well, no more. I must…somehow, protect them, the last of them._

It had been a conclusion she’d come to while finishing her surgery on Linda, and one she reaffirmed to herself, as she checked on the progress of the healing.

She would find a way, to somehow shelter and preserve those few that remained, as well as find out what Anderson was up to…and perhaps try and intervene in the lives of those Spartan’s as well…And maybe then…maybe that would be enough to begin to pay back the debt she owed to her own humanity…to those seventy-five families she’d destroyed…

Maybe…

_God forgive me!_

_…_

Linda had been told by —a nearly emotional—Halsey that she was to be on bed rest, for some ridiculous length of time, that neither she, nor the team had time for. So, as soon as she was sure she could walk without fainting, or getting sick and dizzy, she’d hobbled herself down to the machine shop, where her remaining teammates were currently residing.

Linda was sure she looked a very odd sight, dressed in the lower half of her armor, with only a sports bra on her top half. Indeed, she felt oddly exposed, and subconsciously self-conscious of her heavily scarred abdomen; the marks were quite disfiguring.

Strange-looking, and marred or not, Will, Fred, Grace—and surprisingly even Kelly— had been happy to see her when she’d arrived in the small work area at the back of one of the bays.

After decades in the army, any lingering shyness Linda felt at being nearly half-naked quickly evaporated, overruled by the hunger to know what had happened since the mission on Reach; to be made aware of the present situation.

Fred was more than happy to provide her those details, as he drifted closer to her, an almost shy aspect to his stance.

His action allowing Kelly—who was still recovering from the terrible burns she’d received in the struggle to flee the ruins of Reach—and Grace to get some much needed sleep. While Will busied himself with sorting through and organizing the armaments and armor he and Fred had been able to bring from the lab on Reach; looking at a way to adapt it into a new upper-half of a suit for Linda.

Linda drifted over to one of the open weapons lockers, Fred trailing closely, but not uncomfortably so, beside her. Linda stroked her index finger lightly over the cool metal of the various arms, finding it oddly comforting.

‘’How are you feeling…? _Really_ , I mean…’’ asked Fred softly, his gaze following the gentle explorations of her slender white finger against the stored weapons’ backs.

Linda pulled out one of the favored MA5B assault rifles, hefting it, trying it, and then replaced it to its slot. She’d never loved using them, though she would never deny their usefulness, and brutal efficiency.

‘’I’m fine Fred,’’ she replied just as quietly, not turning to look at him, feeling oddly unable to. _Besides,_ she thought _, I really have no idea how to answer that…I don’t know how I feel._

‘’I’m alive, all my faculties and functions seem to be working…so, what more is there to worry about? Isn’t that enough for a Spartan to be ‘fine’?’’

‘’You’re supposed to be resting…’’

‘’Who says?’’

‘’Halsey…and you know it. I heard her ranting away to Cortana about it. She can’t believe you insisted on being up and about this soon…she thought you ought to have had at least a month of recovery time.’’

Linda smiled wryly. ‘’Well, we hardly have the time or luxury for that Fred, and _you_ know it.’’ she retorted lightly, at last bringing her gaze up from her perusal of the available guns, to meet his.

‘’Besides, it’s a little odd, don’t you think, for her to be suddenly so concerned?’’

‘’What do you mean?’’

Linda just shrugged, not entirely sure herself, surprising herself a little, in fact, at the sudden statement. The woman had cared for them, she supposed, in her own, rather selfishly possessive way; like the overly clever, and therefore smug kid at a science fair, who had the best project, and loved to lord it over everyone else.

‘’Well…it’s just that she… _made_ us…and well, _this_ ; fighting, doing the impossible, being tough, and invincible—Linda was unable to keep a twinge of bitterness from her voice at this word—is what we were made _for_ …it’s what we _are_.’’

‘’So..?’’ prompted Fred after a moment of silence, in which Linda, as always, as Fred had been anticipating her to do, began trying the various sniper rifles, carefully pulling them from their slots, checking them, returning them, working down the line of available selections.

‘’So,’’ replied Linda at last, pulling her preferred SRS99 from one of the slots, ‘’it’s a little _late_ to be feeling bad about the inevitable consequences…I mean, in a way it’s best to just not think about it, don’t you think?’’

‘’I suppose,’’ agreed Fred hesitantly, removing a gauntlet in order to scratch his head; his hair longer than she’d ever seen it, it was nearly as long as her own, which was still no longer than about an inch.

‘’We’re all going to die sometime Fred, and so there is no point being sentimental about it…it…just makes the fact pinch harder.’’

The coldness of her words, the utter lack of feeling was almost painful for Fred to hear. The impulse to reach out to her, to soothe that well of hurt she harbored—the likely source of the icy veneer she wore to shield herself—came over him more strongly than it had in years. Instead, he merely closed his bare hand into a momentary fist, and supressed it, shoved it down, away, like always.

‘’Linda,’’ he whispered, watching her luminous green eyes sweep upwards, framed by dark lashes; she waited for him to continue, cocking one gingery eyebrow.

‘’I…’’ stammered Fred, ‘’It might ‘pinch’ but I think…I think it’s important anyway…at least if you feel pain, you know you’re still alive.’’

Linda smiled crookedly at this pronouncement. It was true. Indeed, how many times had John said, reminded them, that if there was pain, then at least they knew they were still alive…and if they were alive, there was still a chance…still hope.

‘’You’re right, of course,’’ agreed Linda quietly, ‘’thank you Fred.’’

‘’I’m glad you’re still here, Linda.’’ He murmured softly, taking another half-step toward her, watching as the smile upon her firm lips gained a fleck of warmth, broadening slightly.

‘’I…I am too.’’ She admitted, watching Fred, as a somewhat shy smile played about his mouth, while in his grey eyes there was something else, something that made her shiver, an unwanted pinkness warming her cheeks.

‘’I better give Will and hand,’’ murmured Fred, holding Linda’s gaze a moment longer, before quietly—as much as one encased in Mjolnir could—moving toward the workbench where Will was working on the various components.

…

Once Fred joined Will, the two of them made efficient progress in making a suitable, functional replacement for her destroyed Mjolnir.

Linda settled herself on the floor, and began to work on her rifle; trying to put that look of concern, that depth of emotion Fred had shown, and clearly felt for her, from her mind. They were only friends…at least so she’d thought. Maybe though, Fred had always felt somewhat differently.

Trying to reassure herself, distract herself, Linda was pleased, as her fingers quickly regained their agility, as she deftly began to disassemble, check, and reassemble her favored weapon; trying to focus exclusively on this, and not to dwell on the past, on a time she could never—they—could never regain, return to…trying not to think on signs she might have missed.

…

On the bridge John listened with full—well nearly full—attention to Admiral Whitcomb, Lieutenant Haverson and Cortana regarding the plan to deal with the amassing Covenant armada, and the command station, _Unyielding Hierophant._ If he were honest, his thoughts lingered elsewhere…

He knew Linda was up and around already, and while on the one hand, he silently commended her for her tenacity…he was deeply concerned. If she was up and about, it meant that she was going to want to go on the mission…as any good Spartans should…

Yet, for John, something, at least regarding her, had changed…

It was too soon…too dangerous…

He had just gotten her back, from what had seemed a certain death. So the thought, the very real possibility of losing her again…

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, silencing his thoughts, his worries; determined to focus on the conversation, to give appropriate input…to remind himself that it was the price they all paid, the sacrifice they all had to make.

But he found, as so often of late, no comfort in this.

…

Upon his arrival in the machine shop area, John was slightly surprised to find the team in a joking, almost jovial attitude as they renewed their camaraderie. While he, by contrast, was all business—though rather resented having to be so. The desire to join in, while being unable to—barred by his position and the seriousness of the situation—made his stress-strained temper all the more sour.

 He felt too, a burning, though unvoiced disapproval of Fred and Will joking about Linda’s death; and was even more irritated that she seemed to be taking it so lightly, joking right back. Intimating that death was the only way one could get time off from their outfit; a sentiment which John found all too true, but utterly lacking in any aspect which he, personally, would find jocular.

He explained to them, along with Locklear and Johnson—though they would not be directly participating in the mission— about their target, the Covenant ship, _Unyielding_ _Hierophant_ , and its attendant armada.

 When the details, insofar as they knew, were known, John dismissed the various attendees to the completion of their appointed, remaining preparations; approving of the excellent refit Fred and Will had done on Linda’s armor.

As he did so, Linda watched him—as she had during the duration of his presence in the machine shop— she could tell he was worried…about her; his manner was stiff, gruffer than usual…almost irritable.

 He likely felt it was too soon for her to be going on the mission; likely feeling as Fred, and Halsey did, that she oughtn’t to even be out of bed. She could sense him trying to find a reason to exclude her, as evidenced by his subtle ignoring of her presence, and lack of any sort of clear, direct assignment; trying to hide this, as so many things, behind that impenetrable visor…and failing.

However, concern and danger or not, there was no way she was staying behind. From what she’d gathered about the fight on Halo, she’d never fail him like that again; how he could have used her in that desperate situation. No, she’d be by John’s side, fighting on his team, until she really was dead, and drew her final breath.

 …

He’d left it to the last moment possible. Even as his mind was awash with so many issues and problems and details. Even as he wrestled with his conscience concerning the choice Halsey had left him with regarding Sergeant Johnson’s fate; due to his unique Flood infection-protected state, a protection offered via his rare form of radiation poisoning—a choice he (John) had to make; whether to hand him over, _along_ with the chip containing information, currently residing in his belt-- which seemed at the moment, to weigh as much as a Hunter--or to merely give the chip alone to ONI.

 Yet even with all this, he could not crowd out the worry he felt regarding Linda.

And soon enough, there was no more time left. He had, in a roundabout way, tried to get her to see sense, to stay back, but to her credit, or perhaps her madness, she’d calmly, coolly—stubbornly—insisted on accompanying him…the team… and he knew it would have been wrong to order her to stay behind.

Certainly, with the abrupt, inexplicable—infuriating—departure of Halsey and Kelly (presumably drugged) it was only a logical choice, that John take the last remnants of the Spartan’s…including Linda. They would need each other; it would be indeed miraculous if they pulled it off. And as he well knew, Linda’s skills would likely be invaluable in their little team of five, to achieving their goal.

It wasn’t long though, before he began to question his permissive decision. John looked at his fellow Spartan’s; if their present discomfort was anything similar to what he was feeling, there seemed the very real possibility of a failure to even reach the location of the mission, let alone complete it.

The inferior and heavily reinforced dropship that was to carry them to their destination was protesting its present predicament, as voiced by the disconcerting grinding, and growling of the metal; punctuated by pops, and then with an alarming groan, one of the solidly welded I-beams, attached to the hull, buckled and snapped.

The Spartan's, strapped to the interior by quick-release harnesses, were presently all hanging on for their lives.

In the void of Slipspace, the forward monitor showed nothing but blackness. The only illumination offered was via the chemical light sticks, which had been activated and tossed inside before they had departed. Many had cracked, their contents floating about like ghostly beads in the zero gee environment. Those still intact emitted a faint, eerie greenish glow, which added no comfort to the already unsettling situation.

Although the hydrostatic gel inside his suit had been pressurized to its maximum level, it was still by far, the worst feeling of pressure John had ever experienced; his bones feeling like they might shake apart.

The Mjolnir seeming hardly able to ward off the effects, of the wild ride, which had begun almost the moment they had departed _Ascendant_ _Justice’s_ launch bay, and entered the inky void of Slipspace.

Warning alarms sounding from time to time, within his armor’s sensors, as the radiation levels spiked and dipped. So far though, the levels, though rising dangerously high at times, were survivable. Thanks mostly to the meager protection offered by the lead-lined dropship.

‘’Now I know why only big ships travel through Slipspace,’’ said Linda, strapped in beside Fred, across from John; her voice sounding slightly muffled and tight.

As black spots broke at the margins of his vision, and with an inescapable nausea cloying at him, John silently agreed, while he busied himself, distracted himself, by checking once more, his teams biosigns: still somewhat erratic, but within operational parameters. No broken bones, no organ damage or signs of internal bleeding…yet. Blue Team seeming for now, reasonably calm regarding their present, dire situation.

He reran diagnostics on his Mjolnir’s shields. They were still able to recharge faster than they were being drained by the ambient radiation that stormed invisibly around them.

‘’This isn’t so bad, you know?’’ Began Fred, ‘’That last insertion I made, or rather we made, on Reach…now _that_ was a rough ride! We were—‘’ but Fred’s story was abruptly cut off, as the dropship lurched violently, reminding them all of just how serious their present situation remained.

Cracks appeared along the armor welded to the port wall; molten lead oozing out in wobbly orbs into the absence of gravity.

Across from him, Fred and Linda hung limply in their harnesses, and he tried not to let this worry him. Their stats were erratic, but stable. It was probably for the best anyway…to endure this in the quiet dark of unconsciousness, rather than gritting out each dismal second. Beside him, to left and Right, Grace and Will still struggled to cling onto consciousness amid the bucking and pitching of their fragile vessel.

John bitterly reflected on the absence of Cortana. The fragment currently residing in his interface was silent, seeming indifferent to his present predicament. The real Cortana would have had some comforting smartass remark, or witty statement to make…something she would know would cheer him, and distract him.

Though perhaps, the fragment was not so much indifferent, as unable to do any more than simply exist…and hopefully, enact her code-breaking programming once aboard the _Hierophant_.

It wasn’t much longer, before the desire for distraction became moot, as with another jarring vibration, and notwithstanding the hydrostatic gel’s padding, John’s head slammed against the front of his helmet, with enough force to cause a spray of stars to cross his vision. Another violent jerk, slammed his head back, and John felt himself grow weak, his consciousness vanishing as if retreating rapidly down a tunnel…until he was in unaware darkness.

‘’Chief? Chief?’’ Cortana’s voice, or rather the flat, bland voice of her fragment, whispered thorough his helmet speaker.  ‘’Chief, respond please.’’

John’s vision slowly came into focus. He blinked the last of the haziness from his eyes. His biosigns sluggishly pulsed on his HUD. The space beyond the inside of his helmet was almost completely dark. Activating the helmet’s external lights, he slowly turned his head—his neck aching in protest—taking in the interior of the dropship.

The sibs still hung limply in their harnesses. And aside from the lazily floating spheres of lead, from under the melted and torn seam of the hull’s armor, there was no other discernable movement.

‘’We made it...?’’ croaked John, swallowing, willing his mouth to moisten; and to rid it of the coppery taste of blood.

‘’Affirmative,’’ the cloned Cortana answered, with most un-Cortana-like brevity and lack of flare.

‘’I’m picking up an enormous amount of Covenant COM traffic. They’ve pinged us three times already for a response. I’m awaiting your orders Chief.’’

‘’How can you pick up COM signals from inside a lead-lined hull?’’ Asked John, feeling slightly alarmed at the implications.

‘’The hull is breached in many places, Chief,’’ replied pseudo Cortana procedurally, ‘’The COM traffic is also unusually strong, which indicates an extremely close proximity to Covenant craft.’’

John digested this, her answer confirming what he had already deduced for himself. On the one hand, it was good news, it meant they had made it, at least insofar as surviving the danger and unpredictability of Slipspace…But they were merely trading one set of dangers for another.

‘’Stand by,’’ he said by way of answer, as he hit the release on his harness, and floated free. Calling up Blue Team’s biosigns, he found them unconscious but stable. Grabbing the first-aid kit, he injected each of them with a mild stimulant to bring them around, before releasing their harnesses.

‘’Where are we..?’’ croaked Will, his voice sounding like he’d not had the benefit of water for longer than might be considered advisable.

‘’Only one way to find out,’’ John answered, ‘’I’ll take the portside hatch. Fred, you’re on the starboard.’’

‘’Rodger, Blue-One,’’ Fred acknowledged.

John rotated the manual release, and eased open the hatch. ‘Above’ was the cold, emptiness of space, speckled with gem-like stars that shone white, yellow and blueish against the blackness. He clipped a tether to his suit, and secured it to the dropship, before leaning out the hatch.

Just as Cortana had assumed, there were Covenant forces in very close proximity. And there were not just one or two, or even a dozen…

There were cruisers, and larger carriers, there were even larger vessels with numerous bulbous sections that were easily two kilometers or more from stem to stern, and boasted dozens of deadly energy weapons. These hulking vessels were attended and accompanied by Seraph fighters, dropships, and tentacled Engineer pods; seeming both as small and plentiful as motes of dust in a sunbeam.

‘’How many ships,’’ John began, ignoring the tightness, the prickle of fear threating, clutching at him, ‘’are we looking at?’’

‘’Two hundred forty-seven warships,’’ replied Cortana, her emotionless voice surreal to the subject matter it reported on. ‘’However,’’ she continued, ‘’I estimate that the total number, based on the small sampling of the population visible via your limited field of vision, puts the number closer to more than five hundred Covenant warships, and accompanying craft.’’

John felt hollow. The number seemed incomprehensible. His gauntleted hands closed over the edge of the hatch, denting it.

Five hundred ships? A fleet that massive would easily overwhelm any defence the UNSC could muster. With an attack force that large, it wouldn’t matter if they were able to warn Earth or not.

The Covenant’s opening salvo would obliterate everything in its path, in a relentless wave of plasma. Earth’s orbital defences would be atomized before they would even fire a single shot.

Thousands of kilometers below the dropship, space rippled, parted and seven more cruisers slipped into normal space, gliding with smooth ease to join the rest of the congregating pack.

 The last time he had seen something close to this magnitude of destructive power, had been the Halo. And he had managed—just—to stop that threat. So he could stop this one too. He had to.

His plan had called for infiltration and destruction of the command station, Unyielding Hierophant. But how would that plan neutralize the gather force? It wouldn’t…but it might buy a little time; enough to come up with a counter attack to this seemingly overwhelming armada.

‘’You say they’ve hailed us, right?’’ John asked Cortana’s fragment.

‘’Affirmative. They’ve been curious about our status for a while now, but not as much as you might expect. There is a tremendous amount of COM activity. They’re probably mostly interested in us as a navigational hazard.’’ She replied, the last sentence mildly comforting to John, only in that it recalled of her ‘full’ self; a trace of her normal wit.

John quickly got all trace of his faltering emotions under control. It was time to act. Time to make decisions, come what may. They were alive, and as long as they were, there was hope. There was a chance.

‘’Send a signal,’’ he instructed, ‘’explaining that our engines are crippled, and that we’ll need assistance to move. Hopefully, they’ll take us to the central station for repairs.’’

There was a slight pause, ‘’sending now,’’ Cortana’s fragment replied.

John transferred what he was seeing, to Blue Team, noting the palpable pause before their acknowledgment lights glowed in his HUD. He knew they were experience the same fear he had…and likely coming to the same conclusions as well: They couldn’t fail their mission; all of humanity was depending on them.

‘’Covenant Command has responded to our request,’’ Cortana’s flat voice informed him, ‘’there is a ferry en route to take us for repairs. Thankfully they’re too busy to take too close of a look at us…since they were a little confused about which warship we belonged to. So I simulated static to cover our ID registration.’’

Taking a final look at the dismal scene spread before him, John re-entered the dropship’s battered interior; though, compared to the outside, with the majority of the hull peeled away, so that the titanium plates below showed through, the inside was positively new.

John briefly explained the situation, and the ruse Cortana had employed to gain them entry to their quarry, and was met with silent resolve. They were ready for the mission. Ready to succeed…ready to die…

Linda walked up to him, making a circling motion in the air with her finger. The merest ghost of a smile warmed John’s mouth at her gesture; for her concern for him…as—he suspected, _hoped_ —more than merely procedural.

He complied by turning in a slow circle, so that she could inspect his suit for any signs of damage incurred in during their desperate passage.

‘’All in order,’’ Linda murmured, about to walk away, when he lightly, minutely reached out, catching his finger around one of hers, making her pause, ‘’allow me to return the favor, Spartan.’’ John intoned, withdrawing his hand, hoping no one else had noticed.

Linda hesitated a moment, then made a slow rotation, allowing John to look her armor-encased form over; the armor unable to entirely obscure the female form beneath it. The faintly narrower waist and slightly more curving hips.

But John quickly diverted his attention from noticing anything further along that vein. Appreciating instead, the immaculate fit Fred and Will had completed on her suit. Besides looking glaringly pristine, the new pieces fit seamlessly with the remains of her old armor. And the security it suggested, gave John a shred of comfort, regarding Linda’s safety.

‘’Ordinance ready,’’ Grace said, unloading the last of the armaments they’d hauled with them. The packages had been wrapped in with lead foil and layers of thermal padding, before being placed in duffels, and taped to the hull.

‘’Do we go in heavy or light?’’ she asked, unwrapping a rifle.

‘’Heavy,’’ John replied, ‘’ except for Linda.’’

Immediately, Linda began to protest, but John raised his hand, and explained: ‘’we’ll need you to cover us with your sniper rifle. You’ll need to be fast and deadly. Take a close-range weapon, and ammo; but that’s it.’’

‘’Yes sir.’’ Replied Linda, in that brittle icy tone that had become all too familiar with the passing of the years; that familiar voice, he would listen to her make reports in. A tone that always hurt a little to hear…it was almost too cold…

Yet, it meant she was ready. Focused, prepared to kill with a single shot.

‘’Everyone else, take as much as you can carry. Once we’re inside, there won’t be anything—but Covenant arms—to rearm with.’’

He, Fred, Will and Grace set about selecting all various armaments that they could reasonably carry, attach and strap to themselves, while Linda readied her rifle, and a stock of ammunition.

 ‘’Stay off the COM from now on,’’ John informed Blue Team, as he slapped a clip into one of his SMG’s. They nodded their comprehension.

Lead-lined or not, there were simple too many potential Covenant ears listening, for them to take the risk. A clang of metal against metal, informing them that their tow had arrived; further evidenced by the gentle tug and reverberation that rippled through the battered dropship.

John carefully maneuvered to the still-open hatch, guiding his fiber-optic probe out to gain the best view of the scene possible.

Two U-shaped vessels, each an approximate size to their own ship, had attached themselves fore and aft, and were maneuvering their crippled ship through the gathering fleet.

John watched as they were towed over and around ships hundreds of times their size.

Gradually the tug turned to face a new ship in the distance. It was peculiar in appearance; as if two Covenant ships had collided, giving the overall shape an elongated appearance, with almost figure-eight geometry.

As they drew closer, John was able to pick out more detail: spokes radiating out from the narrow mid-point of the vessel, connecting to a slender ring. Feather-like tubes extended from each bulbous section, and moved slowly over the central wheel.

Squinting, John attempted to make out further details on the unusual ship, but found that the probe was already at maximum resolution.

Still puzzling over the ‘ring’ he finally saw something that he was able to recognize: tiny ships, docked to the ring. Covenant cruisers and carriers; at least sixty connected to the central construct.

And as quickly as this revelation sunk in, John felt a sensation of sinking dread settling into the pit of his stomach anew.

Its proportions were so massive it made the docking ships look like toys. John calculated that the two tear-shaped lobes had to be a least thirty kilometers end to end.

This ship could only be the Covenant command-and-control center, the _Unyielding Hierophant._

The tug continued to blandly guide them toward the behemoth structure with such placidity that John felt the very uncharacteristic urge to laugh, as it stood in such contrast to his reeling feelings.

It seemed they had caught a lucky break, being towed so willingly by their enemy, like the foolish Trojans of old, bringing the wooden horse into their city, so too were the Covenant, taking them into the very heart of their operations…the very place they needed to be.

Yet, it was the last place John _wanted_ to be.

But there was little time to brood. He and the team were committed now. This was their chance; they would have to make the best of it.

Closing the hatch and retreating into the dropship, John waited tensely with the rest of Blue Team. The minutes ticked by, and as they did, John tried to control his breathing and clear his mind.

The calming relief of gravity settled his stomach, as a series of clatters echoed along the hull; atmosphere hissing through the cracks of the wounded dropship.

With hand signals, John distributed the team. They moved to the appointed hatches, weapons leveled. Lastly, he gestured to Linda, motioning her to his side, as they moved to the port hatch.

John couldn’t be sure of what reception awaited them on the other side of the hatches, but no matter what, they would face it head on.

The port hatch began to creak open. And whoever, or whatever was doing so, seemed to be undertaking the task with precision, if not caution.

 John and Linda raised their rifles; John felt his finger tighten against the trigger with a caress that recalled more of anticipation than fear. Beside him Linda tensed, the slight adjustment of her boot against the deckplates seeming to make a grating, clamorous noise in the taunt situation.                                                              

Light entered the confining space as the hatch swung open. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, John went to pull back on the trigger, when a rubbery, pinkish tentacle snaked its way over the hatch’s opening.

Tension momentarily eased from his body. It turned out that their initial welcome was only a Huragok—or Engineer; one of the harmless creatures the Covenant tasked and utilized in the maintenance and construction of their technologies.

Signaling the rest of Blue Team to stand down—at least insomuch as it pertained to the Engineers—John moved forward, using the fiber-optic probe once more, in order to peer out of the hatch.

The Engineer peered at this strange creature poking its head out of the dropship with bland indifference; at least so it seemed to John. In moments the creature floated into the dropship, making soft squeaks, and gentle wheezing sounds as it occupied itself passing its cilia-laced tentacles over the re-hardened lead which had seeped from the seams; pausing too, to interestedly stroke over the foreign Mjolnir armor.

The first was joined by two others, and they all busied themselves with single-minded interest, with the interior of the battered ship.

John eased the probe out of the hatch, taking in their bearings. It seemed, mercifully, they had not been detected, and that there was no ‘welcome party’ waiting.

They appeared to be in a massive machine shop, or hanger of sorts, where row upon row of Seraph fighters, dropships and other small craft were being attended, repaired or made ready by thousands of busy Engineers; the strange creatures floating and hovering to and fro with placidity, yet focused industry as they reassembled parts; replaced and repaired.

Turning the probe upwards revealed a narrow deck, from which hung tools, welders, and spotlights, in a manner that reminded John of jungle vines. But the thing that drew his interest was the gloominess and therefore cover it would afford them as they surveyed the area, and decided on their next move.

With another series of hand signals, John gestured Fred and Linda out of the ship and upwards onto the latticework deck, so that they could provide cover for the rest of the team. They slipped from the dropship and in seconds were pulling themselves up the thick coils of one of the dangling cords with the agility of squirrels.

As soon as they were in place, and things remained just as clear as they’d been since their arrival in the repair bay, John, Grace and Will followed, each nimbly and rapidly hauling themselves up into the relative safety of the walkway.

They quietly fanned out, but remained within sight of each other, each of them crouching down, quietly surveying the busy floor below for anything of interest, or perhaps more importantly, imminent threats.

However, surprisingly, John, and apparently the rest of Blue Team spotted nothing that could be considered a threat, save for a pair of Grunts, laboring to push a trolley laden with containers of what appeared to be some evil-colored chemical.

Looking beyond them, John’s gaze fell at last on something they could use, something that would be vital to the mission: a holoterminal for Cortana’s fragment to interface with.

Drawing the four other Spartans attention to what he’d found, he waited for their acknowledgement lights to wink in his HUD, before once again, directing them with hand signals.

They made cautious but steady progress forward along the network of lattice-work walkways, and hanging cables and repair accoutrements.

Checking again that the way was clear, save for the Engineers—who remained utterly focused on their various maintenance related tasks—Blue Team made their sleek return to the floor, hugging the walls and keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

With Fred and Linda in place ahead, on either side of the terminal, scanning for any threat, John moved forward, crawling as low to the floor as he could, balancing haste with caution. With Will and Grace holding the rear—and hopefully covering his back—John removed Cortana’s fragment from the slot in his skull, and inserted her into the terminal.

After a rather lengthy—tense—pause the oddly procedural voice of the fragment sounded coolly in his ear.

‘’I’ve managed to secure us a private channel, so we can use the Team COM.’’

‘’Good,’’ murmured John, ‘’what else?’’

There was another long pause, in which John fervently hoped that this fragment knew what she was doing…and had the enough of the real Cortana’s infiltration and encryption routines and abilities to accomplish the tasks set her.

‘’I have schematics for the station,’’ she finally informed him, before launching into a rather long, and dry explanation about the central reactor complex.

‘’Will it explode?’’ John interrupted somewhat impatiently.

‘’Yes…once triggered; an explosion of sufficient strength could vaporize both sections.’’

‘’Well, ‘’ confirmed John, ‘’that’s the good news then, what’s the bad?’’ he asked, feeling like there had to be a catch…things rarely went to plan on missions.

‘’The reactor system is isolated. I cannot reach it from this terminal. You will have to physically deliver me there,’’ informed the fragment.

‘’Where is ‘there’?’’

‘’Seven kilometers into the station’s top lobe.’’

John considered the risks, while knowing there would be no way of quantifying or anticipating them all. What other option did they have at this point? They had come this far, was it not then incumbent on them to try, to do all that was possible?

So, after waiting a full minute for the copied Cortana to copy herself once more—a highly risky decision—in order to allow a copy of herself to remain in the system to spy, John signaled Blue Team forward to the access hatch indicated by Cortana; pausing only long enough to reinsert the ejected chip of the splintered Cortana back into the slot in his head.

Blue Team ran, crouched for the thirty meters to the hatch. They piled through, the door snapped shut behind them.

…

For the next eleven hours they crawled on hands and knees, climbed up and along ducting, avoided the rotating blades of ventilation fans, and otherwise grubbed along through spaces meant only for attendant Huragok.

And the reward for their tense, arduous labor: a dead end.

Fred slowly passed his gauntleted hand over the barrier. ‘’New welds,’’ he murmured.

Cortana’s fragment chimed in then, ‘’it must be a recent repair not yet logged into the stations manifest.’’

‘’Options?’’ asked John fighting down an uncharacteristic burst of frustration. ‘’Time is running out. The Covenant aren’t going to hang around here forever, and every moment wasted is another moment they get closer to making their attack on Earth.’’

After another pause, and another maddening explanation about her lack of mission planning routines, she managed to come up with the solution of backtracking a—mercifully—short distance, to a waste access cover, which would then lead them ‘out into the open’ for a little ways, and then to a ‘guarded’ corridor and at last to the chamber housing the reactor.

‘’’In the open’? What do you mean? We’re on a space station, there are no ‘open’ places.’’ John put in, as Cortana transferred a schematic onto his HUD.

John looked at the image and didn’t understand at all what he was seeing, beyond what appeared to be walkways, and perhaps buildings. The only thing he was sure of, was the fact that there seemed to be little in the way of cover, and that the area above the structures did indeed seem ‘open’ and therefore, dangerous.

But, like so many things about this mission already, they had little choice now but to forge ahead and make the best of their chance to destroy the station, and in so doing, wound the armada.

Blue Team slowly turned themselves in the cramped space they had laboured along for nearly half a day, and made their way to the access duct that Cortana’s fragmented fragment had indicated. Pushing it open, they were greeted by a flood of bluish light. Blinking his eyes, impatient for them to adjust, John once more slipped the optic probe upwards to scan their surroundings.

What he saw however, made perhaps even less sense than the schematic Cortana had offered him. Detecting no movement with the probe, John cautiously poked his head out of the opening.

The hatch was located at the end of what seemed to be an alley. He ducked back as a group of Jackals passed by, but none of the vulture-like creatures noticed him in the shadowy space.

Peering out again, John attempted to make sense of his surroundings. The station was hollow inside, or so it appeared, and the blue light came from a beam that was situated lengthways, offering a daytime-like illumination, but with a harsh, unnatural edge.

The buildings, or John so supposed, where of a collection of shapes, and rose high into the atrium-like dome, or sat squat and triangular nearer the paved ground.

Catwalks with moving surfaces crisscrossed the space, along with tubes with capsules that transported passengers.

Above, Banshees flew in formation through the vaulted space of the great room; while butterfly-like creatures flapped languidly in great clouds at a lower level.

The whole baffling combination making John feel like he was in some version of an Escher painting come to life. A feeling which was rather unpleasant.

Shaking himself from the temptation to try and make further sense of what he was seeing, he turned his mind firmly back to the task at hand. Off to the right he spied a strip of translucent material set into a far wall.

‘’Is that a window to one of the repair bays?’’ he asked.

‘’Correct.’’ Cortana answered, sounding, if possible even more flat.

‘’Well, at least we might have a way out,’’ muttered John, before confirming the next leg of their rout. He pulled himself out of the duct, Blue Team following.

‘’Try and get oriented…as best you can,’’ he instructed, sensing their understandable confusion at their perplexing surroundings.

He explained the next stage of their rout, which was nearly dead ahead, into one of the column-fronted buildings, which was probably some sort of temple.

‘’We’ll have to make a run for it,’’ John explained, ‘’in the open…unless anyone has a better plan?’’

He regretted adding the option for input the second the words left his lips, as he watched Linda step forward, ‘’permission to post on the roof and provide cover…’’

John bit his lip a second, but then, relented. It was what she had come for, right? It was her main asset to the team…

‘’Do it.’’ he replied quickly, before he could change his mind.

‘’Let me know when you’re in position.’’ He added, wishing her out of his sight, before he could change his mind; while just as strongly desiring her to remain firmly at his side, where he—likely foolishly—believed he could keep her safe.

Linda gave a curt  nod and set instantly to work, unpacking a padded grappling hook. She twirled it, casting it upwards, where it caught. Testing it with a firm yank, she ascended rapidly.

With Grace, Fred and Will clustered near him in the shadows, John shouldered his rifle, thumbing off the safety.

He could feel the adrenaline building in his veins and welcomed its heart-pounding distraction. It helped him focus, moving his thoughts from Linda.

As Linda’s acknowledgment light winked once, John tensed his body, and burst from cover, tearing across the cobbled street.

Eliminating a group of startled Grunts, John hit the stairs of the temple, ascending them several at a time. Checking his HUD, he saw that the rest of Blue Team were following his lead; less welcome were a collection of enemy contacts at the periphery of his range.

‘’You’re clear so far,’’ Linda was saying in his ear, ‘’there are Elites, but they’re unarmed. Wait…A Hunter pair. Stand by.’’

John listened to the harsh crack of Linda’s rifle split the relative quiet of the atrium like a thunderclap.

‘’Threat neutralized,’’ she reported, voice as cold as liquid helium. ‘’Be advised that there are Banshees approaching. I’m moving.’’

John suppressed the urge to offer words of caution, opting instead to say nothing. He reached the top of the stairs, Blue Team on his heels.

The temples interior was cold, and dully lit, tinged with the colors of stained glass windows. Rows of pillars ran the length of the structure. It was a good place for an ambush, John noted quickly, his tension elevating, as he swept the entrance, finger tight on the rifles trigger.

‘’Cortana, update on security,’’ John murmured, feeling as he spoke, a faint prickle, an invisible warning.

‘’There are dozens of reports. I’ve got them covered…’’

Then another Cortana broke over the voice of the first, ‘’be advised there are Brutes in this temple. But they shouldn’t be a significant threat.’’

Her voice sounded warped somehow, strained.

It concerned John, but no so much as the warning of prowling Brutes, and her assessment of them being no threat.

He also tried not to worry about the fact that there seemed to be more than one Cortana in the system now. It seemed like her warning about fragmenting her fragment might be coming true. It seemed like she was becoming more and more unstable…and if that was the case, could anything she said be counted on?

However, for the moment this possible problem was low on his list of concerns. Waving Blue Team forward, they advanced slowly into the gloomy temple; even as John was unable to shake his mounting feeling of unease.

Taking point, John moved toward the next column, as Will and Fred moved to the columns on either side, Grace taking up the rear guard.

There was a flicker of movement just ahead, but as soon as John sensed it, it was gone. Heart throbbing in his throat, John sharply brought up his fist, bringing his team to a halt.

His motion detector read that the way ahead was clear; but like Cortana’s compromised state, he knew that all was not as it seemed, and that once more his instinct was where he would be placing his trust.

John pulled a grenade from his belt, identifying once more—or rather confirming—the hint of the contact lurking ahead.

A shadowy form moved around the same column he was using for cover. It moved faster than an Elite, and as fast as John.

He fired his rifle point blank into the hulking silhouette; but it didn’t miss a step, let alone slow down—the only reaction it gave was a howl of rage, and perhaps pain.

To his flanks, Will and Fred began to fire short bursts into the creature, but it hardly flinched.

Behind them a series of explosions detonated, and adding to the panic and horror of the situation was the shrill alarm of Grace’s biosigns flashing ominously in John’s HUD.

‘’Ambush!’’ John heard Will shout, as he sprayed another peppering of rounds into the advancing beast.

But before John could really respond, or even register either Will’s warning, or Grace’s imminent danger, the Brute finally emerged from the shadows, and faced John.

He looked a moment, taking in the immense muscular body—marred with bullet wounds—like some grotesque cross between bear and troll. His gaze lingering a second at its red, frothing mouth, filled with razor-sharp teeth, as his gaze shifted upwards to the small, but wrath-filled eyes.

The Brute tackled John, knocking his rifle from his grasp. Even in his armor, John was not strong enough, and his concern for the fate of his teammates was quickly replaced with the sinking dread regarding the furthering existence of his own life, as his body was impacted by the beast’s granite-like fists.

With alarm, John watched as his Mjolnir’s shielding drained, then died, unable to recharge under the relentless assault. Warnings blared in his ears, as information scrolled across his HUD.

The Brute wrapped its hands around his neck, and squeezed.

With dark spots breaking across his vision, John dug deep, burning determination filling him, as he willed himself to stay conscious…to stay calm.

Since as he well knew, from endless hours spent in training at wrestling during his childhood and youth, victory, and the means to achieve it, often came from one’s mind; the ability to stay focused, and work to turn the situation to your advantage.

There were ways to defeat a larger, stronger opponent. And though his present, dire situation was by far worse than anything he’d experienced with a trainer, or even Jorge—who had been the biggest and hardest to beat at wrestling—he was determined.

Fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness, John watched the bar indicating his suits shielding sluggishly recharge. I would be his only chance. As soon as it reached a quarter, he would use it to his advantage.

But, with the Brutes grip increasing—dissuasion, offered in the form of an entire clip from his rifle having done nothing but perhaps make it angrier and more determined in its goal of sundering his head from his shoulders—John knew he had only seconds to react and could not wait a moment longer.

Another explosion thundered behind him, answered by the staccato snarl of rifle fire; Blue Team was just as busy as he; he would have to regain his freedom on his own.

 He curled his body, tucked his knees to his chest, and rotating his pelvis, holding a second longer, before kicking out with all his strength.

The maneuver worked. The assault combined with his ever strengthening shields gave him the momentary window needed for escape, as the beast reeled back in shocked confusion, and released its grip around his neck.

Adrenaline thudding through his body John surged into action, determined not to lose his precarious advantage—as well as to finish off this treat so that he could help the rest of his team.

He lunged at the snarling Brute, jumping and landing on its broad back. He raised his arm, bringing his elbow down into the base of the monsters neck, causing the massive frame to crumple to the stone floor. Next he grabbed the creatures arm, wrenching it around past the point where any human arm would have been able to withstand. John spread his legs, gaining leverage against the floor, keeping the Brute pinned.

The frag grenade still in his fist, he flicked the arming pin, reaching around and under the massive alien, trusting it into the Brutes abdomen.

The grenade detonated, lifted both John and his opponent a meter from the floor. John landed with a bone-jarring clatter, the Brute with a grotesque wet-sounding smack; its hulking form mercifully still.

John sprang to his feet, looking for Blue Team.

The pillars obscured his view but he was able to detect Fred to his left a few columns over, Will off to his right. Grace was nowhere to be seen, nor was there any sign of her tag.

Without knowing, John _knew_ that there was one less Spartan in the world.

He remedied this crushing realization with the distraction of the continuing danger of their situation. He was puzzled as to why neither Fred nor Will had tried to hail him. Silence was deadly, and usually meant trouble.

Picking up movement from the mouth of the temple, John once more attempted to use his fiber optic probe, which had been so useful through the mission, only to find that in the struggle  with the Brute it had been lost—and likely damaged.

 He eased himself forward, peering around the pillar, his gaze falling upon the still form of Grace, laying face-first on the floor in a pool of her own blood. It was a grimly heartbreaking conformation of what he`d already surmised.

John clicked his COM; a status inquiry, needing the assurance that Fred and Will were still operational. But the second he performed the simple action, the reason for Fred and Will`s silence became clear, as two more Brutes wheeled out of the shadows, their large-caliber weapons leveled. John silently cursed his stupidity for failing to realize that Blue Team`s COM had been what was exposing their position; it seemed that Cortana`s fragment had been wrong, the channel was not secure in the least.

Snarling as its small eyes settled upon John, one of the Brutes aimed and fired. John darted back behind the cover offered by the pillar; chips of stone rattling against his armor.

The creatures quickly moved on to using grenades, causing the pillar he’d been using to fracture, crumble and fall to pieces, which he just managed to dodge; rock and rubble raining down in chunks that could easily have squashed a human.

John rapidly assessed their options. It wasn’t feasible to engage the Brutes in a direct assault, nor was he up to another round of wrestling; and the proverbial clock ticking…

So, that left only one option: run.

Yet he wasn`t going anywhere until he knew for certain that Grace was dead.

Acting rapidly, John shrugged out of his pack, and removed one of his two Lotus mines. He threw it, watching as it spun in a wide arc across the temple hall, imbedding its spikes into the wall above the arching entryway.

The two seconds it took to detonate felt monstrously long.

Clicking his COM once more John warned ‘’fire in the hole,’’ which caused the Brutes to once more spring forward from cover, their deadly grenade launchers at the ready.

But they were—mercifully—no match for the Lotus mine: it detonated with a flash of fire and a tooth-rattling reverberation, reducing the temple’s entryway to rubble and dust; the Brutes vanishing beneath it.

John moved from cover. Assuring himself that the entrance was sealed. They were safe, well for a few minutes anyway.

He dropped to his knees beside Grace’s inert form…

Her biosigns were completely flatlined. He tried to roll her, and then stopped. The detonation he’d heard while wrestling the Brute had been three high-velocity grenades…which had torn Grace nearly in half.

John looked up as Fred and Will emerged from their cover, to stand at his sides. He shook his head at them.

There would be no way they could take her body with them. She would suffer the fate of so many of the others…a spoke in the relentless wheel of war. Ground to bits before the unyielding march of death.

But he would be damned if he would let her death count for nothing…

John opened the tiny access panel on Grace’s armor power pack, entering a fail-safe code. Her armor’s little fusion reactor would overload and burn everything within a ten-metre radius. It would be her final act; her funeral pyre.

John rose, ‘’Cortana, which way?’’

There was another slight pause…’’proceed into the temple thirty meters. Turn right. There is a sealed door. I will open it, and then lock it behind you. Hurry, I’m encountering increased resistance from the system’s AI…’’

John listened to the flat voice, listening to the faint echo-y quality it had. Was this, and the misinformation about the dangers in the temple and the use of their COM’s the ‘unforeseen complications’ she’d warned him about, due to using a copy of a copy?

But there was no time to think about this worrying snag any further. They had to move. All he could hope was that she held herself together long enough to infiltrate the reactor core, allowing it to overheat and blow the station…and then—hopefully—a little longer yet, to open the airlocks in the hanger bay so that they—assuming there was any of them left—could make their escape.

‘’Let’s go,’’ John said curtly, waving Fred and Will forward through the doorway Cortana’s fragment had opened; pausing a moment longer to take a last look at Grace, before the door sealed shut with a soft hiss behind him. John activated his suit’s external lights, as he determinedly refused to allow himself to focus on the memories he had to Grace from years past.

Her loss also sparking worry anew regarding Linda…

John swallowed, adjusted his grip on his rifle and brought his thoughts willfully back to the task at hand.

…

Reaching the reactor complex, and then a terminal near the one of the glowing, pulsating reactor’s itself—for Cortana— was surprisingly one of the least harrowing parts of the mission, for which John was silently thankful.

Waiting for a pair of Jackal guards to pass, John sprinted forward, keeping to all available shadows. Crouching beside the terminal, John removed the chip from his interface, slotting it into the glowing port.

After a now almost predictable pause, the fragment reported: ‘’I’m in. I can accomplish the overload.’’

‘’I’ve found an exist route. I’m uploading to Blue Team’s NAV’s. You should be able to reach the repair bay undetected. When you are there, give me the order and I will proceed with the overload.’’

John paused a second of his own; the events in the temple all too fresh in his mind. There was no way he would risk Cortana being wrong twice on this mission. Besides which, the Covenant fleet could jump at any minute…

‘’Proceed with the overload now,’’ confirmed John firmly.

Within seconds the light emitted by the reactors began to shift from glowing blue to being tinged with white, spreading as though it were a virus.

‘’Overload underway,’’ Cortana’s fragment informed. ‘’Please head for the exit now.’’

John watched a triangle appear in his NAV, indicating a ladder. Raising his hand, he waved Fred and Will forward.

After a little more climbing, crawling and an elevator ride, Blue Team stepped out once more into the strange bluish light of the atrium, and the waiting form of two Elites.

Opening fire, Blue Team quickly dispatched of them, leaving lifeless hulks and sprays of blood in their wakes. They edged forward, rifles sweeping side to side. Ahead, there was a collection of Covenant species, gathered at the demolished mouth of the temple. Above, Banshee fliers were circling by the dozens.

Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed steam rising from the water making up the elaborate fountain system. He consulted his countdown timer, there was less than eight minutes left. And judging by the steam, the reactors were well on their way to their catastrophic demise.

Another explosion erupted then, a wash of fire and a blinding flash of light, rumbling and reverberating through the ground. It burned up the Grunt’s which had been laboring to open a path into the temple, and their Elite overseers alike.

John smiled bitterly a moment, ‘’Good-bye, Grace,’’ he whispered. Savoring the few moments the diversion of the detonation of her power pack would buy them, as the angered aliens tried to figure out what had happened.

John set off for the far end of the atrium, to where he’d earlier spotted that translucent band of material on the wall; behind which was the repair bays, and the airlocks beyond; their only escape.

Casting his gaze upwards, he searched for Linda, amid the bizarre architecture of the station. She could be anywhere.

Watching a group of Banshees pass, and idea occurred to John. Pausing a split second, he made up his mind. Clicking his COM, he began: ‘’Linda, the Covenant is able to triangulate on our signals. But this time, I’m hoping they do. We’ll need a couple of those Banshees. When they get in range, take them out.’’

There was no answer. John forced himself to think this was merely because Linda had understood, and was not going to risk revealing her position by using the COM…rather than the much more unsettling—though very real—prospect, that she was dead; images of Grace’s ravaged form filling his thoughts.

But moments, later, after John had clicked his COM again to attract the attention of the nearing Banshee’s, causing several to peel off in the direction of Blue Team, there was a harsh crack, the unmistakable sound of Linda’s sniper rifle; a spray of blood smeared through the cockpit, as the Banshee plummeted forward, crashing into one of the steaming pipes, and wobbling to the ground.

Once more John raked his eyes over the eclectic environment, but still could not locate her position. Based on the shot she’d fired, it seemed her position was at an angle somewhere above and behind. But, eyeing the innumerable catwalks in the massive space, she could be anywhere.

The Banshee’s swooped in, plasma glowing hotly, ready to fire. John, Fred and Will raised their weapons, but before they could get a shot away, there was another muffled crack, and then another. Two more of the small Covenant craft floated to the ground.

Apparently deterred, the remaining pilot’s banked their Banshees away, not seeming to know what had hit their companions…but too slow. Another two precise shots sounded, leaving the Banshee’s in a wounded heap on the street; blood sprayed across their cockpits.

To say John was impressed was an understatement. He’d never seen Linda shoot better than she had in the last two minutes; punctuating the din and fury their detection had unleashed.

It had been a risk, something he—irrationally—had been against, but Linda, performing her most vital function to the team,  had proved—of course— an invaluable decision…only now, if he could not locate her, if the four of them did not leave together…none of it wouldn’t matter.

Moving forward, Fred, Will and John left the relative safety offered by the forest of pipes, to mount the downed Banshees.

‘’Get to the bay, and work on getting the window rigged for a remote trigger,’’ John instructed, risking using the COM; an action which predictably elicited the attack of a swarm of other Banshee fliers. With much dodging and time-wasting maneuvers, Fred and Will managed to escape, making for the window outside the repair bay, grounding and abandoning their Banshees; using the reigning chaos to their advantage.

John however, had more persistent company. He rose higher, weaving back and forth, plasma bolts sizzling over his head.

Glancing over his shoulder, John watched in relief as two of his pursuers fell from the air, crashing heavily into the ground.

Linda still had his back.

Risking communication again, John attempted to contact Cortana: ‘’can you open the airlocks in the repair bay?’’

He was greeted with a discordant flurry of voices, all fighting and talking over each other…until at last, ‘’Chief…I’ve designated one copy to communicate with you…Go ahead.’’

‘’How many copies are there?’’ asked John, due to the rather disconcerting development.

‘’Unknown…the Covenant AI has nearly overwhelmed me. It was the only way…Yes, I will open the airlocks. My systems are fragmenting Chief…I will not be able to exist in a cohesive state much longer…’’

John consulted his mission timer, there was barely seven minutes left.  ‘’Understood,’’ he replied to the unravelling fragment of his faithful AI, trying not to feel too disturbed by it…not to think about the future…when this fate, this horror of disintegration would encompass her full self.

‘’If I’m not back in three minutes, blow the window and exit,’’ John instructed Fred, cutting him off as he began to reply, ‘’I can’t leave her…’’John said, his voice losing for a moment its clipped tone.

Fred clenched his teeth, willing John to succeed…wanting to help…but saying instead, all that there was to say: ‘’understood, sir.’’

…

John gunned his Banshee to its top speed, tucking as close as he could to the small crafts fuselage.

With the devastating death of Grace so newly raw in his chest, John tried to dull his mounting panic regarding Linda.

It was like Gamma Station over Reach all over again. His plans of keeping her near him as a means of safeguard were once more blowing up in his face, mocking his seeming inability to offer protection.

And so, having just got her back, after that hellish blunder…now only to have the very real possibility of her dying again… well, he wasn’t going to let it happen. He couldn’t.

He’d get to Linda. He’d get her out alive—or die trying.

John was astonished and faintly panicked by her elusiveness. He continued to elude his pursuers; as once more, Linda felled a pair of Banshees which were getting too close for comfort.

Scanning the area, John tried again in vain to locate her among the dizzying jumble of spires, reclamation towers, water features—all steaming ominously at this point—catwalks, and transport tubes that crisscrossed the interior of the station’s atrium.

At last his gaze fixed upon a collection of walkways located near the central beam of illumination that ran down the center of the atrium; a location with enough glare that a sniper might use to hide in; in plain sight, as it were.

As an energy mortar blasted past him, near enough to make his shields flare and then drain by half—fired curtsey of a Wraith tank which was tracking him—there simply was no more time to waste on hide and seek, or evasive maneuvers.

Weaving enough to throw off the Wraith—he hoped—John keyed Linda’s private COM. ‘’Position report, Linda,’’ John barked, ‘’that’s a direct order!’’

Seconds ticked by, then there was a faint whistling tune through his speakers, the ‘’Oly Oly Oxen Free’’ tune used since their childhood; along with a NAV marker, centering on a nearly invisible rope, running between two of the transit tubes, and dangerously close to the high-intensity light beam.

 Mildly furious he’d had to order her to be rescued, John instead distracted himself by using his image enhancers; through the glare of the light and the depth of the shadows, he at last caught sight of reflected optics; her use of light and shadow to hide was as impressive as her shooting had been.

Pressing himself deeper into the craft, he sped forward, at last making visual contact. Linda was suspended; a rope coiled about her boot, and wrapped over one forearm. John could only surmise how she had made such superb shots from a seemingly impossible setup.

Linda uncoiled the rope from her boot, swung, released at the apex of her arc, and fell toward him.

Her gauntlet slapping into his, as he pulled her onto his back, was perhaps the greatest sense of relief he’d ever felt; but it was short lived. They were still in danger.

‘’Why didn’t you answer me sooner?’’ he growled, gunning the Banshee, and taking evasive action, from the onslaught of enemy fire.

Linda wrapped her arms around him to secure herself, ‘‘I was focused on our mission,’’ she murmured

‘‘Not good enough!’’ barked John, as he willed the small Covenant craft to greater efforts of speed and evasion.

‘‘I’m alright John,’’ she whispered, her voice still ‘mission’ cold, but not unkind.

A plasma bolt grazed the Banshee, rocking it slightly,

‘’You need to focus; we’ll talk about this later,’’ Linda added.

‘‘When?’’ John snapped—though knew she was perfectly correct. And after all of this, he’d be damned if he was going to lose her now, or indeed endanger either of them further than was unavoidably likely to their situation.

‘’Later; we’ll find a time,’’ assured Linda, her tone warmer, her grip around him tightening slightly in what might have been comfort, though it was hard to tell through the impersonal armor.

It was true, this was not the time or place.

Or maybe that _was_ the problem.

For Spartans, there might never be a ‘later.’

But, he had no choice; his focus had to be getting them—all of them— off the _Hierophant_.

It ended up being a very near thing. Cortana’s fragmented fragment was utterly unravelling; an effect which was detrimental, as in John could not be sure—the final time he tried to contact her—of the myriad of distorted, shouting, talking voices, which if any had heard his order, his near desperate plea for her to release the airlocks. 

The Lotus mines had not blown the window to the bay as planned, and only at the last minute did Cortana’s shattered, unraveling fragment come through for them, over riding the locks, and enabling them to get out to ‘safety,’ as they tumbled gently into the black weightlessness of space, pieces of detritus, insignificant among tumbling pieces of metal and other debris.

…

Maneuvering gently, they managed to reach one of the dropships that had been sucked out from the repair bay.

Inside, John consulted his timer; there was less than four minutes until Unyielding Hierophant met its demise. They had done it. They had completed their mission. The price had been harsh; though not as harsh as it would have been, if a certain sniper had been lost…or killed.

‘’Where to, Chief?’’ Asked Linda from the controls, her voice softer, less icy.

‘’Away…’’ John answered tiredly, as Linda obliged by guiding the dropship in a gentle—hopefully—inconspicuous manner toward the pockmarked, silvery moon; where they would await further orders.

…

The _Gettysburg_ felt very empty and forlorn, after the sacrifice of Haverson and Admiral Whitcomb, who’d elected to use _Ascendant Justice_ as a fireship to take out the remaining ships destroying _Unyielding Hierophant_ had not…knowing, as John had, that even with the destruction of the control station, it was not enough. There would still have been too many ships left to overwhelm Earth.

But now, with their sacrifice…there might be as chance.

To that end, they were finally heading for Earth, with the information that might give them enough time to prepare, to withstand the fury of the Covenant; a threat though weakened by the destruction of the armada, was one which by no means, vanquished. A battle had been won, but the war was still up for grabs.

And there was sure to be hell to pay, for the loss of _Unyielding_ _Hierophant_ , and all the other vessels; and the payment desired would be in human blood. And that was something John was determined to prevent at all costs.

So it was with a feeling of the surreal, that John found himself lying inert on a bunk, in relative safety, with no immediate threat looming, and no one baying for your blood; even as his thoughts reviewed darkly, the bitter struggle that was to come…the continuation of the same struggle he’d fought against for nearly three decades.

He was beyond exhausted. It felt like he’d not slept in months. Yet, still he could not allow himself to relax; to get any more than meager snatches of sleep.

He hardly felt alive anymore; rather a shell, an automation, functioning, moving through what had to be accomplished in an automatic, but hollow manner. Yet without any of the benefits being an artificial lifeform would have afforded…His body ached from the compounding injuries of the last couple of weeks; raw, relentless.

John opened his eyes as Cortana appeared on her plinth, bathing him in her comforting blue glow. Even if his armor was between it and his actually skin.

‘’Well, did _she_ do her job?’’

John turned his head, taking in his AI’s slender form, her arms crossed over her chest, her face skeptical, as she awaited his answer regarding the fragment she’d sent with him on the mission…the fragment that had nearly cost them everything, because of her rampant meltdown. But John was not about to point this out.

If he were honest, it had scared him. And if it had scared him, then for sure it would not be something Cortana would take easily…

He knew she wasn’t quite right, not since interfacing with the Halo. But what had happened aboard _Hierophant_ had been deeply disturbing…The thought that that, in a few short years more, might be… _would_ be…the fate of Cortana, of her whole self, was something he didn’t want to think about.

‘’Hardly,’’ he murmured, ‘’you were right, she wasn’t even a _quarter_ the woman you are.’’

Cortana smiled knowingly, then sighed dramatically, ‘’well, it was the only way for me to be in two places at once.’’

John nodded and closed his eyes, placating with soothing lies, ‘’she did alright, got us out in one piece, just in time; but, nothing beats you, all in one piece.’’

Cortana snorted, ‘’obviously.’’

She paused, John cocked his head slightly, ‘’what?’’

Cortana looked momentarily distracted; watching through the ship’s sensors as Linda approach the door; she tried to curb the burst of jealousy mingled with disappointment—even though she knew she couldn’t _really_ be feeling either—‘’oh, nothing, I better go.  Lot’s to process, and go over, before we get back,’’ she said casually as she could.

John frowned behind his visor, as Cortana vanished in a blue glimmer, her abrupt departure adding to his sense of unease regarding her. But further speculation was cut off, when a faint knock echoed against his door.

Feeling uncharacteristically lazy, he called out, ‘’come in,’’ rather than getting up to answer the door, hoping vaguely that it wasn’t the Sergeant—he’d never hear the end of being caught lazing.

 He smiled faintly as Linda admitted herself. John slowly sat up, and indicated that she sit beside him on the low bunk. He’d not really been that comfortable laying on it; it was too short, like all UNSC bunks. It was amazing how you got used to sleeping with your knees bent, not that he, or any Spartan ever did much sleeping.

Linda sat in a graceful movement, which was impressive as she, like him, was encased in nearly a ton of armor. But then, everything Linda did was graceful; including administering death.

They sat beside each other silently for a few moments, until Linda began to talk, in her quiet, slightly distant tone; one that was almost as distressing to hear as her icy 'mission voice;'  when he could remember a time her tones had been much warmer, and prone to teasing, if you knew her well enough, and she let you in. Though, as John reflected, he’d probably been the only one she had let in.

She never did have many friends among the sibs. Other than him, she’d probably been closest to Fred.

 Either the others had been jealous of her, as in the case of many of the girls, for being pretty, and skilled; or in the case of the boys, angry because she’d paid their ‘’affections’’ no mind, and because she could show any of them up at sniping.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ Linda began, her hand hesitantly sliding into his, the cold metal scraping a little, as he accepted it.

‘’I’m sorry I didn’t make my position clear sooner, and that I endangered you, Fred and Will, and the mission.’’

John gripped her hand tight, ‘’I’m sorry I scolded you, it was wrong. You were only doing what any of us are supposed to do; I’m sorry that _I_ endangered us, by going back for you…but I couldn’t bear putting you in the MIA list again…’’

Linda turned her head, looking at him, ‘’I’m sorry we lost Grace,’’

‘’Me too.’’

‘’I hate that we aren’t allowed to be dead…I mean, when we _really_ are,’’

‘’It’s an honor, it means that we, and our actions always live on,’’ replied John.

Linda depolarized her visor, waiting until John did the same before continuing, ‘’so the theory goes; but I feel in a way it cheapens us, there is never any closure, never any peace; we are put on a pedestal, yet despised.’’

John found himself nodding, remembering what one Antonio Silva had had to say, none to subtly on the subject of how ‘’valuable’’ and ‘’honorable’’ he thought Spartans were.

The silence drew out; that was fine, it was enough to just be together, not that there was any other choice, separated as they were by thick armor, and an under-suit.

That was another thing that John had always faintly resented: the armor. While absolutely necessary to their success, and helped to make them what they were, it was also a curse. Unlike all other UNSC troops, a Spartan was virtually imprisoned in their armor. Kept separate, and made different…hated, admired, misunderstood and feared by the other services.

And now, in his time with Linda, in their miraculous reunion, he had never been irritated by its restricting nature more. Of course they could take off their gauntlets, remove their helmets, but it was the principal of the thing, the idea, that for a Spartan, you would have no need for an easy way out of your suit; human desires, urges, wants, and feelings were not things that applied to _Spartans_.

John closed his eyes, willing the bitterness away. Hoping again, for a time when things might be different, when he and Linda, might get to enjoy, at least in some way, in some part, the type of freedoms, and normality, that they fought so long to protect.

In the meantime, there was one thing he _could_ share with her, even in armor. A smile; that most intimate of all Spartan gestures.

John gently extracted his hand from Linda’s, making her look at him, their eyes met, he raised his hand, making a v with his middle and index fingers, he placed them to her helmet, over where he mouth was. She smiled faintly, then returned the gesture against his helmet.

John smiled, as Linda made a kissing gesture with her lips, which he mimicked.

 It didn’t help the ache, at wanting to _feel_ her lips against his fingers, but, for now, for the moment, it was enough.


End file.
